CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introductory Chapter. — One Day— o 

/ 

/ Katharine’s Yesterday — 

Chap. I. “The World is made of Sawdust” .... 16 


II. Difference.23 

III. Rest.31 

IV. “Come 39 

V. Work.47 

VI. Bait.54 

VII. A New Law.61 

VIII. To-morrow.68 

Christian Endeavor Leaven.77 

Some Peculiar People in Our Society. 93 


How Adelaide went to the Convention — 


Chap. I. Praying for a Visitor.113 

II. “ Nobody goes to New York in July ” . . . 120 

III. Endeavor on the Cars.128 

IV. Her First Meeting.137 

V. The Consecration Meeting.146 

Why Adelaide stayed Home from the Convention — 

Chap. I. The Mother in Montreal.157 

II. “Inasmuch”.163 

III. A Happy Morning’s Work.169 

IV. “ Let not Thy Left Hand know ” ..... 176 

V. A Comrade in Service.183 

5 




















6 


CONTENTS. 


PA G« 

/ John Chamberlain’s Easter Coat ....... 19 1 

/ They Might, but They Didn’t.209 

t / Pledge-Makers and Pledge-Breakers.223 

/ An Old Missionary Meeting.235 

» Some Carols for the Lord.251 

“Because of the Pharisees” .. 263 

; “For Whom Christ died”.. . 275 

* “ Living Epistles ”.287 

/ The Unknown God — 

Chap. 1 .301 

II.310 

III . 326 

v Under the Window.337 

v The Minister’s Bonnet — 

Chap. 1 .367 

II.380 

HI. 39 i 

IV .401 

V.. . 410 




















KATHARINE’S YESTERDAY, 


AND OTHER STORIES. 



KATHARINE’S YESTERDAY. 


INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

ONE DAY. 

T HE flowers were all discontented. They had 
begun to think about themselves. Perhaps 
it was because it had rained all day when they 
had not felt particularly thirsty; or because the 
sun had not shone for them to nod their gay 
heads in ; or, more likely, for the reason that no 
one had passed that way for them to cheer and 
brighten by their presence; and so, having noth¬ 
ing else to do, and no one, not even a bee or 
a butterfly, to think upon, they had turned their 
thoughts toward themselves. 

“Oh, dear! ” impatiently cried a tall, thin blade 
of grass, as he shivered in the wind, “I’m cold 
and wet clear down to my toes! I don’t see what 
was the use of more rain. We’ve had enough. 
I wish I was a violet, so I could wear a purple 
hood, and use my leaves for an umbrella.” 

“ Hem ! ” said a violet contemptuously, peering 
out of her wet silk hood with a scowl on her 
sweet face. “ What’s a violet ? If I was going 
9 



10 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


to wish, I’d wish for something worth while. 
Why don’t you wish to be a rose ? See that 
great, blushing rose over there in the middle of 
the garden! Think what talents are hers, and 
what a life of pleasure-giving she can have! How 
people admire her! When they come into the 
garden they pass this corner with, 4 Oh, these 
are just violets, you know; come over and see 
the roses.’ I wish I was a rose, I do ! I’m tired 
of being a violet.” And she shook herself until 
the raindrops rolled down and dripped from the 
point of her green umbrella. “Who said rose?” 
asked a great pink bud, lifting its tear-dewed 
face for a minute. “ I’d rather be a lily. Peo¬ 
ple are always talking about my blushing, until 
I hate myself. I’m quite common. Lilies are 
stately, they say. They are pure too. I’m sure 
a lily does more good in a garden than all the 
roses in the world. Oh, who wouldn’t be a lily ? ” 

“ I wouldn’t,” answered a tall, white one 
promptly. “ I can’t see any use in lilies, anyway. 
They’re no good in the world. They soil easily; 
look at my feet all splashed with mud.” And 
he glanced down at his pale-green stalk with the 
black earth-marks. “ As for my honey, the bees 
like the clovers full as well. Then, too, clover 
can be eaten by animals. Besides, people make 
clover-top tea. I believe I’d like to be a clover. 
Clover don’t have to be coddled up in a garden. 
I just envy the clover ! ” 

“Well,” said the clover, looking in between 


ONE DAY. 


II 


the rails of the fence, “I’d be glad to change 
places. I’ve tried hard to get into the garden, 
but your old gardener always pulls me up. It's 
tough business, always living out here in the 
road, with the constant danger hanging over you 
that any passing horse or cow can chop your head 
off and shorten your life. I don’t see what clover 
was made for. There’s the geranium, bright and. 
warm. People think so much of that they even 
take it into their houses to help the fire warm 
the room. They live double lives. I’m nothing 
but ‘grass of the field,’ and I’m tired of it. I 
wish I had a little brilliancy.” 

“ Geraniums aren’t the happiest flowers in the 
world by any means,” responded a great red stalk 
of them. “We have to wear these great red 
flannel clothes summer and winter; and if by 
chance any of us get dressed in a pink or white, 
it’s generally a frail member of the family, who 
doesn’t live long. Geraniums are hardy, they 
say, and so they illtreat us ; and we have to bear 
twice as much knocking round as the roses and 
lilies. I agree with the violet, that the roses and 
lilies have the good times. Besides, I have heard 
that they’ve been noticed in the Bible. It says 
something about ‘roses of Sharon’ and ‘lilies of 
the valley.’ That’s a great honor; and, in conse¬ 
quence, they always get sent to people when they 
are in trouble, to comfort them, with a verse from 
the Bible about their names twisted in with them. 
Whoever heard of the Bible saying anything about 


12 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


a geranium ? I never get sent to comfort people. 
Some of our family who dress in white go to 
funerals occasionally ; but it’s only to fill in, and 
not because we have any special talent for it. 
We might as well be dead. I’m tired of it all.” 

“ What’s the use of a daisy ? ” said one, in a 
feeble voice, outside the fence. “ I’m old. I 
might have died to-day ; but I thought I could 
keep up for a few hours longer, if I tried, just 
to cheer somebody in the road, or maybe to kiss 
the dear pink butterfly that comes to see me 
every morning. But no one wants a gray-haired 
daisy; and my petals are quite shabby. Inside 
the fence are my French cousins, the Margue¬ 
rites, and they can do better than I. I’m noth¬ 
ing but a field daisy, and I guess I’ll die. What’s 
the use of living longer ? ” And he dropped his 
head in despair. 

“Now, if they all talk like that, those great, 
splendid lilies and roses, and the dear, sweet vio¬ 
lets, with their gentle faces and winning ways, and 
the brave daisies and clover and grass, what’s 
the use of me, just a little dirty, yellow spot in the 
grass? To be sure, the children like to tell the 
time by blowing my hair off when it grows white 
and old ; but what is that in a great world full of 
talents ? I can’t do anything at all,” said a little 
dandelion, peering out from her wet and tangled 
yellow locks, in a discouraged way. 

Now, one brave little bird had come to the 
afternoon rehearsal in the maple by the garden. 


ONE DAY. 


13 


and, finding herself early, had tucked her water¬ 
proof about her closely and sat down on a branch 
to wait for the rest, and she overheard the 
whole conversation. She sat pondering to her¬ 
self whether perhaps they were right, until the 
words of the anthem for the next morning came 
to her. Then she said, “ What a stupid lot they 
all are! Why don’t they see that the world must 
have daisies as well as roses, and that each one 
would be missed if he failed to do his part? None 
of these garden flowers can take that old daisy’s 
work for the last day of his life.” 

So she took out her music, and began to practise 
in such a sweet little chirp that the flowers, who 
were now moaning and sobbing, stopped to see 
what this might be that broke into a world of woe 
so joyously and with such a true ring. 

Now, the bird anthem which she was practising 
was a bird translation of words something like 
these: — 

“Now, there are diversities of gifts, 

But the same Spirit; 

And there are differences of administration, 

But the same Lord. 

And there are diversities of operation, 

But it is the same God which worketh 
All and in all. 

“ For to one is given by the Spirit 
The word of wisdom; 

To another the word of knowledge, 

By the same Spirit; 

To another, faith, 

By the same Spirit; 


H 


KATHARINE S YESTERDAY. 


To another the gifts of healing, 

By the same Spirit. 

But all these worketh 

That one and the self-same Spirit.” 

She had chanted so far when two other birds 
arrived, and together they went over it again. 
Then the clear, strong voice of one bird soared 
forth in a solo : — 

“The body is not one member, 

But many. 

If the foot shall say, 

‘ Because I am not the hand 
I am not of the body,’ 

Is it therefore not of the body? 

If the ear shall say, 

‘ Because I am not the eye 
I am not of the body,’ 

Is it therefore not of the body ? ” 

Then came the chorus; and by this time many 
more birds had arrived, damp, and out of breath 
with their hurry, but they joined in : — 

“ If the whole body were an eye, 

Where were the hearing? 

If the whole were hearing, 

Where were the smelling? 

But now hath God set the members* every 
one of them, 

In the body as it hath pleased him, 

Having given more abundant honor 
To that part which lacked.” 

By the time the grand chorus swelled out to 
its end all the birds from the neighborhood had 
arrived and joined in ; for the clouds were begin- 


ONE DAY. 


IS 


ning to break, and a soft, yellow light was steal¬ 
ing over everything. The flowers had ceased 
their sad looks, and were drying their faces in 
the wind; and as the rehearsal broke up, the 
grand old withered daisy held his head high and 
murmured : — 

“ Let us covet earnestly the best gifts, but let 
us do our best with the gift when we get it.” 


16 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


CHAPTER I. 

“THE WORLD IS MADE OF SAWDUST.” 

K atharine bowman stood at the front 

gate of her father’s house, looking drearily 
down the road at nothing in particular. The air 
was crisp and clear, and the sunshine of the early 
morning was making everything dance and sparkle. 
All the brilliant red leaves, with their dew-covered 
faces, came fluttering gayly down with a frosty 
air, or clanked and clattered against one another, 
as if to pretend that fall was well on its way and 
winter would soon be here. Nothing could have 
looked gayer and more enticing that October 
morning; the air, the sunshine, the leaves, and 
the very grass seemed full of delightful possibili¬ 
ties. Katharine saw them all: the little whirls 
of white dust down the road ; the purple and blue 
mists on the distant hills at the end of the street; 
the big hill, or “ mountain ” as it was called, which 
loomed up before her just across the meadows, 
and which s!ie had climbed in company with a 
gay party of young people only a few days before; 
saw even a little brisk black-and-tan dog that was 
twinkling his small feet along the sidewalk in a 
lively manner, and the cheerful little sparrows, 


“the world is made of sawdust.” 17 

that hopped in the road, and did not care whether 
winter came or not; but they none of them gave 
her any pleasure or sense of joy. 

The truth was, the world looked pretty dark to 
her that morning. She had just come from the 
depot, where she had watched the morning ex¬ 
press whizz out of sight, carrying with it half a 
dozen young people, who had been all in all to 
her during the whole of the summer which had 
passed. They had played tennis and croquet, to¬ 
gether, had read and sung, walked and talked, 
gone on picnics, taken rides, and, in short, done 
all the delightful things that a party of congenial, 
bright, young people can think up to do during a 
long summer in a country village. 

The last delegation of them had gone away this 
morning; and now only Katharine was left, with 
all the pleasant places where they had enjoyed 
themselves together, and dreary enough they 
looked to her. What was that great hill now, 
with its waving scarlet foliage and its stores of 
autumn brilliancy ? Nothing but a hill, which 
she would not be hired to climb alone. What 
was the tennis-court, with its clean-shaven 
smoothness and its clear, white lines, over 
which played the mirthful sunshine and occasion¬ 
ally a naughty yellow-and-brown leaf danced ? 
Nothing- but a desolate reminder of happy days 
all gone. 

Yes, the summer was over and the winter 
had begun, a whole long winter, full of work 


i8 Katharine’s yesterday. 

and disagreeableness. She remembered the old 
brown cashmere dress that lay on her table this 
morning. Her mother had put it there, remind¬ 
ing her that it should be ripped, sponged, and 
pressed, to be made over. How she hated made- 
over things ! She glanced down at the stylish 
street suit she had on. It would have to be put 
away and kept only for special occasions, now 
that there was no more company. Her pretty 
tennis suit, too, would have no use. Then there 
was a pile of mending, that had been accumulating 
during the months when she had given herself 
over to good times, and what else was there not 
to be done, day in and day out, this long, barren 
winter ? 

In the house a pile of dishes was awaiting her 
attention. The servant had gone away for a day 
or two, and Katharine knew that the dishes would 
be left until she returned from the station, as her 
mother was very busy with the dres-smaker. Still 
she lingered at the gate, dreading to go in and be¬ 
gin the winter; thinking of the other happy girls 
who had left her, some to spend their winters in 
boarding-school, others in their city homes, and 
the young men, most of them in college or at 
their business. It must be so nice, she thought, 
to be in business, and not have to poke at home 
and wash dishes. She wished she could go to 
school this winter. Why was it that her father’s 
business could not have been as good this par¬ 
ticular winter, just when she would have so en- 


“ THE WORLD IS MADE OF SAWDUST.” 19 

joyed going to the seminary with Mabel and 
Fannie ? 

Then this young lady drew a long sigh, and 
turned away from the gate, drawing off her gloves 
as she went, and moving slowly toward the house. 
She would not look at the tennis-court as she 
passed it, and two unhappy tears slipped out and 
rolled down her cheeks. She did so love tennis ; 
and now there would be no more until next sum¬ 
mer. Of course, she could not play alone. 

But once in the house there was plenty to be 
done, and no one else there seemed to have time 
to think of yesterday. 

“ Katharine, I wish you would wash the dishes 
as soon as possible, and then make a cake. Mrs. 
Whiting is coming down to stay to tea to-night 
and go to prayer-meeting, and there isn’t a bit of 
cake in the house. Make the easiest, quickest 
kind, and get through as soon as possible. There 
is a great deal to be done, and I shall need your 
help this morning.” Her mother said this as she 
entered the door. 

Yesterday, when Katharine had been playing ten¬ 
nis, Frank Warner, her partner, had watched her 
several times, and thought what a pleasant expres¬ 
sion she always had, and what an exceedingly nice 
girl she was, anyway, for a girl who had been 
brought up in a small village, and whose father 
had never been able to give her many advantages. 
But he would scarcely have known her, I think, if 
he could have seen her now as she took off her 


20 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


hat and jacket, with an almost sullen expression 
on her face, and her brows drawn together in a 
very inartistic scowl. 

There was no time for her to examine the pack¬ 
age that the girls had given to her at parting, and 
which she had not had the heart to open before, 
so she laid it on the table to wait until a leisure 
moment should come. 

9 It seemed to her as though the task of washing 
all those sticky, ugly-looking dishes was an impos¬ 
sible one, and likely to prove interminable; and she 
made it all the harder for herself by continually 
bringing up to her mind visions of pleasant things 
that had happened the days before, and discon¬ 
tentedly wishing those days back once more. 

The work of getting the dinner fell mostly upon 
her shoulders that day, and very reluctantly it was 
performed. She scowled at everything, and sighed 
until her brother John told her she sounded like a 
steam-engine. She told him in reply that he was 
a saucy, unbrotherly fellow. Then she went to 
work to make a pudding for dinner which she 
knew he did not like, just because it took less 
time than others which he did like ; and things did 
not matter to her much, anyway, that day. Her 
heart was all in the past summer, mourning for 
it and its joys, as one does for a dead friend. 

Dinner was over at last, and the dishes washed; 
but there was no rest yet for Katharine, nor 
leisure. Indeed, she had so prolonged her work 
by glooming over it, that it was quite late in the 


THE WORLD IS MADE OF SAWDUST. 


21 






afternoon before she went up to her little room and 
began slowly to smooth her hair. Her mother’s 
voice called from the sewing-room where she had 
been all day with the dressmaker, “ Katharine, 
Mrs. Whiting has just turned the corner, and is 
coming this way. She has come down very early. 
You will have to go down-stairs and receive and 
entertain her for a while, until I can come. I am 
sorry, but I cannot possibly leave this work just 
now. Do the best you can, dear.” 

That was all ; and then the door of the sewing- 
room shut quickly, and the hurried mother went 
back to her work, while Katharine scowled harder 
than ever, and went slowly, crossly, down to the 
door to welcome old Mrs. Whiting. Her greet¬ 
ing was by no means cordial ; and her mode of 
entertaining her was so stiff and disagreeable that 
the poor lady felt quite ill at ease, until at last the 
gentle mother came down, and Katharine was set 
free to attend to the supper. 

“ I shall not be able to go to prayer-meeting to¬ 
night, daughter; I feel one of my nervous head¬ 
aches coming on, and shall have to go to bed. 
You can go to the meeting with Mrs. Whiting, 
dear, can’t you ? ” 

This sentence, spoken at the tea-table, with old 
Mrs. Whiting sitting opposite to her and listening, 
seemed to Katharine the climax of the ugly day. 
Of course there was nothing to be said but “Yes” 
when she was asked before every one; and she 
thought to herself as she went for her hat and 


22 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


jacket, “ Is all the winter to be like this, I won¬ 
der ? Oh, what a contrast to yesterday ! ” 

Prayer-meeting seemed the height of dreariness 
to Katharine to-night. She was never at any time 
fond of going, and usually got out of it as often as 
she could. To think of having to sit in that dark 
little room, where all the lamps smoked and the 
air smelled strongly of kerosene, and listen to sev¬ 
eral long prayers and talks by some old men and 
women ! She recoiled from the idea, and thought, 
as she had done a dozen times that day, of the 
evening before, and the merry party that had 
gathered at one of the pleasant homes in the 
village for a farewell frolic. 

The meeting was not quite as dreary as she had 
pictured it. More were out than usual, and there 
was a spirit of earnestness in all that was said that 
wotild have surprised her if she had not been too 
much wrapped up in her morbid thoughts to pay 
any attention to what was going on. But the air 
was fully as keroseny and dusty as she had ex¬ 
pected, and she turned up her nose well over it, 
and wished for the end of the meeting to come. 

At last the day was over, and Katharine was 
seated in her room with the little package in her 
lap, and leisure to open it. She untied the strings 
slowly, thinking of the dear friends who had left 
it, wondering to herself why the summer could 
not have lasted longer, and why it was that a 
winter with its hard work must come and put 
itself in the way. 


DIFFERENCE. 


CHAPTER II 


DIFFERENCE, 



HE package proved to be made up of several 


JL smaller ones. Each of the girls had remem¬ 
bered her with some little parting gift, and the 
several packages were characteristic of the donors. 
The first contained a dainty pair of undressed kids, 
well chosen for the one who was to wear them, 
and in size, shape, and color, perfect. These 
from Fannie, who enjoyed pretty clothes so much. 
Next, a small volume of essays from Mabel, the 
literary member of the gay company. From 
Frances, the fancy-worker, a small sachet-bag, 
elaborate in satins of delicate shades and exqui¬ 
sitely painted bolting-cloth. It looked like Fran¬ 
ces, and the faint, sweet odor of it reminded one of 
her. Then from Cousin Hetty was a blank-book, 
bound in real russia leather, with pockets in the 
covers, ample pages, dated for each day of the 
year, and a lovely fountain pen with gold-banded 
handle. This was to be used as a diary, and to 
be written in every day, so said a note slipped 
inside the cover. “ Keep log-notes, you know, 
Kathie, as they do on shipboard, for us to read 
next summer when we all come back. And you 


24 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


must put down your real thoughts too,—your own 
queer, original ones, — so that we can live your 
winter over with you next year.” 

Katharine curled her lip as she finished reading 
this note, and her eyes were filled with that gloomy 
discontent which had shone so plainly all day 
upon her face. What was there for her to write 
that the girls would care to live over with her 
next summer? How would they stand it if they 
really had to live it with her, or in her place ? It 
was easy enough for them to write pleasant things 
that happened, and make them interesting, too, 
with their lives full of boarding-school and lec¬ 
tures and concerts, and all sorts of delightful 
occupations; but what was she to do ? There 
would be nothing but dishes and ripped-up 
dresses and dismal prayer-meetings for her to 
put in the whole long winter through ; and she 
sighed again, and dropped some bitter tears upon 
the pretty things in her lap. 

But the treasures she was bathing in salt tears 
were too new and precious to admit of much such 
treatment, so she wiped her eyes and sat up to ex¬ 
amine and enjoy them once more. The sachet- 
bag was admired again, and finally placed in her 
handkerchief-box, carefully guarded by her finest 
embroidered handkerchief; the gloves were tried 
on, and fitted perfectly ; the volume of essays was 
glanced into, and found to look really quite inter¬ 
esting ; and then came the diary to be written in; 
for of course she must try the new pen immedi- 


DIFFERENCE. 


25 


ately, and the book ought to be started, even if 
there wasn’t anything to write about. She poised 
the pen in the air, and drew her forehead together 
in a thoughtful frown, and then after a few minutes 
dashed ahead, and began. 

“ I must write my thoughts in this book, they 
say,” she wrote. “ My thoughts for every day; 
but I have no thoughts that are pleasant to write 
to-day. My pleasant thoughts are all of yesterday. 
Oh, if it were back! If I could see the girls once 
more! If I could live the summer over again! 
It was so bright and happy! Yesterday the hill 
looked so lovely, the tennis-court was so delight¬ 
ful ; and now all have a lonely, don’t-care look. 
I cannot see the use in a life that is all made up 
of washing dishes and going to poky prayer-meet¬ 
ings. Such a life as Mrs. Whiting has! I won¬ 
der if I shall ever care for it when I get to be an 
old lady. It doesn’t seem as if I could stand it to 
be an old lady, anyway. Think of having to come 
down here to tea, where nobody wants her, in 
order to get any pleasure! Oh, it is awful! I 
wonder why people can’t stay young always. I 
wish I was rich ! I can’t understand why every 
one can’t be rich. It wouldn’t hurt any one! I 
am just tired of having only one girl, — and she 
has to go home every day or two to take care 
of some sick sister or other, — and ripping up 
old dresses. I wish I never had to wear another 
made-over dress. I hate them ! ” 

Under this word hate she made a black, crooked 


2 6 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


little flourish, and stopped a moment with a mark 
just like it puckered into her forehead, and her 
lips twisted into the shape of the word hate. 
Then she seemed to realize a little what sort of 
a spirit she had been showing all day, and what 
she had put upon the clear, white sheet before 
her; and she bent her head once more, and wrote : 
“ Oh, how ugly I am, anyway! I wish I could be 
different; but I can’t.” 

She put the cap on her pen, and with a long- 
drawn sigh placed it in its little case. But in 
opening the cover of the book she discovered a 
small slip of paper. She pulled it out, wondering 
if it were another note from Hetty. No; it was 
only a little printed card. The heading caught 
her eye, — “Difference,” in large letters. It 
seemed a queer title for anything. She read the 
first line: — 

“ I was poor yesterday, but not to-day.” 

She smiled half sneeringly to herself. That 
wasn’t her case. She might be said to have 
been rich yesterday, but to-day there was nothing 
but drudgery and dismal prospects. She read on, 
to discover why the individual who wrote it was 
poor no longer : —• 

“JTwas poor yesterday, but not to-day j 
For Jesus came this morning 
And took the poor away; 

And he left the legacy 
He promised long ago. 

So peace and joy and love 
Through all my being flow.” 


DIFFERENCE. 27 

A queer feeling took possession of her as she read 
on with the quaint little poem : — 


“ I was tired yesterday, but not to-day .* 

I could run and not be weary. 

This blessed way; 

For I have his strength to stay me,' 

With his might my feet are shod. 

I can find the resting-places 
In the promises of God. 

A servant yesterday, a child to-day, 

A loved one of his household, 

Bearing his name alway. 

Do you know this blessed difference? 

Do you long for this better way? 

He will come to you as he came to me. 

With the joy of an endless day.” 

No, she did not know that difference, and she 
was not at all sure that she longed for that better 
way. Indeed, that way did not seem better to 
her, but it always seemed gloomy and forbidding. 

It was the first time in her life that she had ever 
really taken into her consciousness the thought 
that there might be joy in the service of Christ 
to any but very old people who did not expect to 
live long anyway. There was a charm in the bit 
of rhyme that made her read it over again ere she 
put it away. Was it really so that Jesus could 
take the “poor” and the “tired” away, and leave 
happiness? Had he promised a legacy to her? 
What was it ? What were the promises of God, 
that made themselves into resting-places ? She 
was tired, and she wished she could feel that way, 


2 8 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


and stop thinking about her yesterday. Somehow 
even that didn’t look very bright now. There was 
an uplifting about the thoughts written here that 
for the moment helped her to realize the compara¬ 
tive smallness of all other joys'. She put it away 
in the pocket, and went about her preparations for 
the night; but serious thoughts of a different kind 
from any she had ever had before kept coming and 
going in her mind. At last the light was turned 
out, and she knelt beside her bed, as was her cus¬ 
tom, for the few formal words of prayer which she 
had said every night since she was old enough to 
lisp the words. There had never been any real 
heart praying in them. It had been a mere form, 
gone through without much thought, and more 
from habit and a superstitious feeling that some¬ 
thing would go wrong if she omitted it, than form 
any desire to ask anything from the Father in 
heaven. 

But to-night as she knelt, a new feeling came 
to her. She seemed to be coming into a strange, 
mysterious Presence which she had never known 
before. She had not doubted that there was a 
God, or that he heard prayer; but the question had 
never had enough thought from her to be even 
raised in her mind. Now she seemed suddenly 
brought face to face with a new idea. Was God 
standing near listening when she spoke? Did he 
care to hear, and would he answer? What was 
this feeling that had come over her ? Was it pos¬ 
sible that he was speaking to her ? Her heart had 


DIFFERENCE. 


2 9 


been so desolate and lonely all day, she began 
to feel the need of something outside herself to 
make her happy. A sudden longing came over 
her to have this wonderful “difference” in herself. 
To know what it was to have Jesus come and take 
the self-weariness away, and make things bright 
for her, and half unbelieving that there was such 
a thing, or that Christ would or could give her 
a real joy, she followed a sudden impulse, and 
resolved to tell him all about it. “ O Jesus 
Christ,” she prayed, “I am so tired of myself! 
If there is any way to make me different, please 
do.” She was not much used to praying, except 
in formal words, and so the words did not come 
freely; but she knelt long, her lips not framing 
any words, but her heart sending forth an earnest 
petition for something, she did not exactly know 
what, only that the great longing in her heart 
might be satisfied. 

She relighted the lamp again before she lay 
down, and took down her Bible that had been 
neglected much, opening at random, and begin¬ 
ning to read at the first place. It proved to be 
the eleventh chapter of Matthew. She read on 
without much taking in the meaning of the words, 
until she came to the last three verses: “ Come 
unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon 
you, and learn of me ; for I am meek and lowly of 
heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For 
my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Of 


30 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


course the words were as familiar to her as they 
are to you and me ; and yet, because of their famil¬ 
iarity, and because of the urgent need of her soul, 
they seemed to mean more to her that night than 
they ever had before. She put away the book, 
thinking as she once more turned out her light 
and lay down, how very tired she was, and how 
much she would like to be rested. She wondered 
how Jesus Christ could rest her, and if he would, 
and wished it would come soon. Then she closed 
her eyes, and thought of the past summer again, 
and of the girls. A slight smile crossed her face 
at thought of Cousin Hetty. Hetty would be glad 
if she could have seen her reading the Bible, she 
was sure. Hetty was a true Christian, if there 
ever was one; and then Katharine sighed, and 
thought how impossible it would be for her to 
ever be as good as Hetty was, and wished again 
she were rich, and did not have to do things she 
disliked, so that there might be some possibility of 
attaining to it. 

The October wind sighed among the half-naked 
branches outside the window, and the distant 
sound of the whistle of the midnight train could 
be faintly heard, and then Katharine dropped off 
to sleep. 


REST. 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

REST. 

I T was the next morning after breakfast, while 
she stood at the door of the kitchen waiting 
for some concoction to boil which she had put 
upon the stove, that she thought this matter of 
rest over. 

She was watching old Andy, the man who sawed 
wood for them, and wondering how he got on in 
his cheerless life, full of hard work. Where did 
the rest come in for him ? She resolved to ask 
him. He was fond of talking to Miss Katharine; 
and many a long sermon he had preached to her,* 
choosing his own text. Sometimes he began : — 
“Ah, Miss Katharine, an’ isn’t this a bright; 
beauty morning, to be sure! Oh, how good our 
God is to make us such mornings ! We just ought 
to be praisin’ him all the day long. Sometimes I 
feel just like gettin’ right down in the dust an’ 
ashes an’ a-tellin’ him what a sinner I be for not 
bein’ thankfuller for all his goodness to me.” 

Katharine liked to hear him talk. There was a 
quaint earnestness about him which always inter¬ 
ested her, and sometimes his thoughts were very 
original. She turned to him as he came near 

I 


32 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


where she stood, to put the armful of wood he 
had just finished sawing on the neat pile he was 
constructing near the door. 

“Andy,” she said, more real earnestness in her 
voice than she was accustomed to use when speak¬ 
ing to the old man, “do you know that verse about 
‘ Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest ’ ? ” 

“Oh, certain, certain, miss; that I do!” re¬ 
sponded Andy heartily, stopping in front of her, 
the great armful of wood clasped tight in his worn 
old arms. “ Many’s the time, miss, when I’ve 
come, weary an’ heavy laden as I was, an’ foun’ 
that rest. Oh, it’s wonderful! wonderful! ” and 
he drew one hand meditatively across his eyes, 
then began to lay the sticks in regular rows on 
the pile. 

“But, Andy,” said Katharine, with a puzzled 
expression, “you have to work hard all the time 
just the same. I don’t see as you’ve been given 
any rest.” 

“ Surely, Miss Katharine, you didn’t suppose I 
was never to work again, did you ? The good 
book never says, ‘ Come unto me, all ye that labor 
an’ are heavy laden, an’ I will take away your work, 
so that you won’t have to do it any more.’ Why, 
that would be to make a lazy set of folks of us ; 
an’ Jesus himself, when he war here on the earth, 
he worked hard. No; oh, no, miss ! Rest never 
means no more work. Why, when a man’s rested, 
he’s all ready an’ eager to work again, an’ espe- 


REST. 


33 


daily if the work’s for the One who’s rested him; 
an’ I reckon all work that’s right to do at all is for 
him. That’s my way a-thinkin’. Ah, I’ve come 
to him many a time, an’ he’s made me all ready to 
go out an’ go to work again. He’s took the tired¬ 
ness all away, an’ made me new again. What 
would the Lord do with a lot o’ laborers a-sittin’ 
roun’ on the edges o’ the vineyard, a-foldin’ their 
hands, and a-sayin’, ‘ I’m gettin’ rested ’ ? Why, it 
don’t take him no time at all to rest us! He can 
do it quick’s we ask him, or quicker, too, for the 
matter o’ that. It just ’pears to me that that there 
verse about restin’ is the unlaziest verse in the hull 
Bible; ’cause if a man’s got rest, what need’s he 
of it ? Course he’ll go right to work.” 

Something was boiling over, and Katharine was 
obliged to go in and attend to it; and Andy went 
back to his saw again, humming in a quavering 
old voice : — 

“ Work, for the night is coming, 

When man works no more.” 

Katharine, as she stirred the boiling mixture on 
the stove, told herself she needed rest; for she cer¬ 
tainly did not feel like working at anything, and 
wondered how she could get it. Instantly came 
the answer in the words of her text : “Come unto 
me, and / will give you rest.” 

But there was really very little time to think 
about that or anything else. The day was even 
fuller of duties than the one before. There was 
much nerve-trying ripping, — work that had to be 


34 Katharine’s yesterday. 

done carefully, lest a little slip of knife or scissors 
should cut the goods. Besides, the dress she was 
ripping was for herself, and was one that she had 
never liked. To add to the disagreeableness of 
her task, there was no possibility of bettering 
the dress by having it made over into any very 
pleasing fashion ; for every one was wearing long, 
straight-up-and-down dresses, with little or no dra¬ 
pery, and this dress had been made with much 
half-length drapery, and all the breadths were 
hopelessly short. Katharine’s temper was by no 
means smooth when she had finished her work 
and sat down to the dinner-table with her father, 
mother, and brother. 

Her brother was a little younger than herself, 
but tall of his age, and would easily pass for a 
year or two older than he was; but they were 
never much together. The truth was, there 
were many particularly trying things to Kath¬ 
arine about her brother. She often wondered 
why it was that he always had to act so shy and 
awkward, and almost disagreeable, whenever he 
went among people with her, and especially when 
there were summer guests in town. Besides, he 
smoked cigarettes, — when he was out of his 
mother’s sight, — and always had the odor of the 
corner grocery about him. Katharine wished 
much that her brother were like some other girls’ 
brothers, but never dreamed that she was in the 
least to blame for the sort of brother he was. 
Now, as she sat down to the table opposite him, 


REST. 


35 


with her nerves all unstrung over the utterly im¬ 
possible task of planning a stylish suit out of the 
old brown cashmere, her eye fell upon the gay 
colors of her brother’s new necktie, and it struck 
her as extremely loud and out of taste. It was a 
little thing, perhaps, to put one out of temper with 
one’s brother; but the inharmony of the colors 
jarred her, and expressed in one flaring, tangible 
thought the whole idea of the difference between 
her brother and some other boys she knew. She 
fixed her eyes upon the offending bit of silk; and 
all the disappointment and ill-temper of the morn¬ 
ing, and, indeed, of the day before, vented itself 
in some sharp words she said to John about his 
tie. 

Now, John was good-natured, and usually replied 
to any sharp words of his sister in bright, funny 
retorts, until father and mother would break down 
in a laugh, and the whole would end in merriment-, 
but to-day his face clouded over, and the color rose 
in his cheeks. The truth was, he did not like the 
tie much himself. He had good taste, and knew 
when a thing was becoming as well as his sister; 
but he wanted some money very much for some 
scheme of his, and this tie was a little cheaper 
than the one he preferred, so on a sudden impulse 
he had bought it. 

“ If you don’t like my tie, you needn’t look at 
it! ” he retorted in a gruff tone. “ There are 
plenty other directions to look. You get so set 
up with all your elegant young gentlemen here in 


3 6 Katharine’s yesterday. 

the summer, you can’t speak decently to your own 
brother any more. I’d just like to have that snob 
of a Frank Warner see you now. He’d think you 
were a perfect angel.” And he broke off his sen¬ 
tence with a rough laugh. 

It was Katharine’s turn to flash her eyes and 
grow red in the face now, and more sharp words 
came from her lips. 

It was a very uncomfortable dinner-table. Of 
course the father checked John in the midst of 
his bitter reply to Katharine, and then adminis¬ 
tered a sharp rebuke to Katharine, which brought 
the red still deeper to her cheeks. John swal¬ 
lowed his dinner rapidly, declined any desert, and 
then departed, while his mother looked after him 
with a weary, anxious face, and sighed ; and the 
father, following her troubled glance, grew more 
severe of countenance, and said to Katharine, — 

“ If you would devote a little more of your time 
to your own brother, and less to other girls’ broth¬ 
ers, he might turn out more to your liking.” 

Then Katharine left the table in a deluge of 
tears, and spent the rest of the afternoon in her 
own room, alternately blaming and pitying herself ; 
while the father and mother, left to enjoy their 
dinner alone, ate little, and sat for the most part 
in troubled silence, wondering what they had done 
or left undone in bringing up their children that 
they should turn out in such a disappointing way. 

Already to Katharine the dreaded long winter 
seemed far on its way. It could not be, she 


REST. 


37 


thought, that it was only two days since the 
girls and boys had all been here. Oh, if it were 
ended, and a new summer begun ! She thought 
over the scene at the dinner-table. How dreadful 
it was to have her father talk so to her about 
John ! What could she have done ? Anything ? 
No; John was not like others. He did not care 
for anything she did. If he only did, what a com¬ 
fort he might be ! And she fell to picturing him 
as she would like to have him. But her thoughts 
ended in her feeling quite well satisfied with her 
own conduct, and very much dissatisfied with her 
brother. Still, she was unhappy. She thought 
often also during the afternoon of the “ rest,” 
and wished she knew exactly how to “ come ” in 
the right way, that she might be sure to get it. 
Nevertheless, when she prayed that night, though 
she asked to be shown how to come, she asked in 
a half-hearted way, and not at all as if it were the 
one great desire of her life. She looked back to 
bright days of fun and frolic as even more desira¬ 
ble. She wrote much in her new diary that night 
about longing to have rest. She carefully recalled 
and noted down what Andy had said about it, and 
thought with satisfaction of the delight with which 
the girls would read this entry next summer; for 
she knew they would appreciate and enjoy Andy’s 
quaintness as much as she had done. 

As she had read over what she had written, 
Satan, leaning over her shoulder, whispered in 
her ear that it sounded very well; and I am 


38 Katharine’s yesterday. 

sure that if her good angel had not put the 
thought into her heart to take out the little 
poem once more and read it over, she would 
have gone to bed that night with too high an 
estimate of herself. 

“ I can find my resting-places 
In the promises of God.” 

These two lines of the poem kept saying them¬ 
selves over after she had lain down. What were 
some of the promises of God ? She tried to think 
of one. “ I will give you rest.” The words seemed 
to speak themselves to her. She had not realized 
that this was a promise in which she could have 
sure confidence. She fell asleep with a feeling 
that she could and would find that rest somewhere. 


COME. 


39 


<< 


>1 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ COME.” 

I T seemed a strange thing to Katharine that the 
next Sabbath morning the minister should 
take for his text those very verses about which 
she had thought so much during the week. She 
looked up at him with startled eyes when he an¬ 
nounced it, as though he must surely have been 
reading her thoughts. She had not wanted to 
go to church at all that morning. Indeed, she 
never was fond of going; and to-day it seemed 
lonely to go and miss the bright faces of her 
various friends. She had tried to think up a 
good excuse, but none was forthcoming, and so 
she went. She was not in the habit of giving 
much heed to the sermon, but this morning her 
attention was caught and fixed before she was 
aware of it ; indeed, she scarcely took her eyes 
from the minister’s face until he had finished. 

He spoke forcibly and clearly about the way to 
“come;” dwelt for a few moments on the won¬ 
derful rest that God could give; but the main 
part of his sermon was about the thoughts in the 
last verse, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn of 
me.” He made it appear that it was the duty of 


40 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


every one who had come to Christ to take his 
yoke. Then he told how a yoke was something 
to make work easier, and that Christ’s putting 
this sentence right after the other one about 
coming to him, showed that he wanted and ex' 
pected every one who came to him to go to work 
immediately. He said that as some yokes were 
made for two, with one end heavier than the 
other, so was Christ’s yoke; that he would 
work with us, and bear the heavy end of the 
yoke, so that our work might not be too great 
for our strength ; and that work could not help 
but be easy and beautiful with Jesus Christ to 
help and to go with us, wearing the same yoke. 
He closed with the words, “For my yoke is easy, 
and my burden is light.” And Katharine felt 
that she had never known what those words 
meant before. 

It was a simple sermon, perhaps might have 
been called commonplace by some; but either 
Katharine’s eyes were getting opened to see new 
things in the words of truth, or else she had never 
listened before, for she thought it a wonderful ser¬ 
mon, and preached for her. She looked about on 
the congregation when it was finished, and felt 
surprised to find Deacon Ewing yawning, and 
Mrs. Moffat evidently awaking from a refreshing 
nap, while her brother John’s eyes were just re¬ 
turning from a trip over the ceiling. 

John Bowman did not often go to church. This 
had been one of the mornings when he did not ex- 


“ COME.” 41 

actly know what to do with himself, and, not enjoy¬ 
ing his own company well enough to stay at home 
without something interesting to read, had gone, 
just because he did not know what else to do. 
He had not listened to the sermon. Not he. He 
had thought of a thousand different schemes for 
employing that hour since he had been in church, 
and he wished with all his heart that he had stayed 
at home and carried some of them out. He re¬ 
solved that it would be some time before he came 
again. 

Katharine, wondering whether she had a work, 
and how she could begin to put on that yoke, as 
she glanced at her brother, in some way connected 
him with the sermon, remembered her father’s sen¬ 
tence at the dinner-table some days before, “If you 
would devote a little more time to your brother, he 
might turn out more to your liking,” and, sighing, 
wished she could do something in that direction. 
She watched him not a little during the closing 
hymn, and tried to think up some way of helping 
him. Nothing occurred to her except the even¬ 
ing service. She remembered to have heard 
among the announcements that of a young peo¬ 
ple’s prayer-meeting. She had a vague idea that 
it was by prayer-meetings and church-going that 
people were made different; and perhaps John 
would get some good from attending. Anyway, 
it would keep him from going off with some of 
the boys who were doing him no good. She de¬ 
cided, therefore, to try to get him to go that even- 


42 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


ing. To be sure, she had never been to the young 
people’s meeting herself, and had an idea that it was 
a very dull affair ; but the whole service that morn¬ 
ing had been so in harmony with the little poem 
she was growing fond of, and had so roused her 
desire for the something which she was in search 
of, that she was seized with a longing to go herself, 
and see if she could get some help. Having made 
the resolve to try and do something for John, she 
felt very meritorious ; but when the afternoon 
came, and the evening drew on, and she met John 
in the hall on his way to his room, she found it 
was easier to resolve than to put into practice. 
Somehow, it was a very awkward thing for this 
sister to ask her brother to accompany her to 
prayer-meeting. It was strange that all the cross, 
sharp words which she had ever spoken to him 
seemed to troop up and stand around now to 
listen. Perhaps it was their mocking, scornful 
presence that made Katharine’s voice sound un¬ 
natural and her face take on a severe cast, as 
she finally mustered up courage and said, “John, 
I wish you would go down to the young people’s 
meeting with me to-night.” 

John stopped short on the top stair, turned 
around, looked down on her, and drew a long 
whistle. “The dickens, you do!” said he in 
a surprised tone ; then as he caught the severity 
of her face his own grew dark, his voice changed, 
and he said in quite a different tone, “ How long 
since you had to take up with your brother’s 


COME.” 


43 


company ? You must be hard up if you can’t 
scratch around and find some one else. Not 
much I won’t! To prayer-meeting? The idea! 
I didn’t know you were fond of that sort of thing 
yourself.” He gave a scornful laugh, and went 
to his room. 

Of course it made Katharine very angry to 
have what she considered sisterly advances treated 
in this way, and she made up her mind never to 
try again. She went to her room in a fit of what 
she thought was righteous indignation, and treated 
her brother at the tea-table with a frigid dignity. 
At the close of the meal, as he left the table, he 
said to her in an off-hand way, — 

“ I’m goin’ down past the church, Kate; and if 
you want to go to that meeting, you can come 
along with me. There’ll be plenty of folks for 
you to come home with. The Moffats always go, 
you know.” 

It was quite a condescension for John to say 
this; but Katharine was too much on her dignity 
to accept it. She spoke coldly, — 

“ Thank you ; I can get there in the same way, 
then, if I care to go, without troubling you.” 

“All right!” John said, with a careless shrug 
of his shoulders, as he went out of the room. 

Katharine did not go to the meeting that night. 
Instead, she shut herself into her room, and set 
to thinking. She was very unhappy. At first 
the unhappiness vented itself in anger toward her 
brother, and a self-righteous feeling that she had 


44 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


done her duty ; but this did not satisfy her. There 
seemed an emptiness about everything in which 
she tried to interest herself. She read the little 
poem over line by line, and tried to imagine her¬ 
self saying it truly from her heart. 

“ So peace and joy and love 
Through all my being flow,” 

said the poem. Why, peace was calm and deep 
and restful; and joy was uplifting; and love — 
why, love was the best, the sweetest, the greatest, 
the happiest thing in all the world ! What would 
it not be to have them flow through all her 
being ? 

“ Do you know this blessed difference? 

Do you long for this better way? 

He will come to you as he came to me, 

With the joy of an endless day.” 

Yes, she did long for this better way with all her 
heart. Oh, would he come to her? She bowed 
her head in her hands, and burst into tears, won¬ 
dering why she felt so miserable. She had never 
felt so before. She had never known these in¬ 
tense longings for something better, and could 
not understand it now. She did not know that at 
that very moment, away in a Western city, Cousin 
Hetty knelt in prayer, pouring out her heart to 
God for her with an earnestness and faith that 
would not be denied. Neither could she know 
that in one of the rooms of an Eastern college 
a young man also knelt and prayed for her. Such 


COME. 


45 


tl 


earnest, united prayers could not fail to bring an 
answer. Katharine would have been surprised to 
know that Frank Warner was praying for her; 
for although she knew he was one of the divinity 
students, and expected to become a minister, 
yet he had never said or done anything to make 
her think he took a special interest in her per¬ 
sonal salvation or that of any one else. But since 
Frank had returned to college he had met with 
some earnest souls who had put new life into his 
own heart, and his conscience began to reproach 
him for the long summer spent in idleness in the 
Lord’s vineyard. As he grew nearer to the 
Master he began to have a great longing for his 
friends to come; and he thought of the bright 
girl who had been the life of their gay little com¬ 
pany all summer, and wished that she, too, might 
find the Saviour. 

If Katharine had known all this, it might have 
hastened her decision. While she sat in her 
room, desolate and perplexed, her mind went 
back to the morning sermon, and a few sentences 
of it came clearly before her: “ Christ says, 
‘ Come unto me.’ The first duty of a sinner is to 
come. One must not seek to appease an offended 
God by doing good works. Your works are not 
accepted by him until you have obeyed him and 
‘ come.’ How shall you come ? Kneel down 
before him. Tell him you are wretched and 
sorrowful; that you need him to save you ; that 
you wish to give up all sin, and belong to him.” 


46 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


“ How simple that is ! ” Katharine said to herself. 
“ Why should I not do what he has told me to ? 
If he wants me to come, why should I not ? I 
will.” 

God’s promise is sure. When Katharine arose 
from her knees she was surprised to discover 
what a new feeling of peace had come into her 
heart. She went to her window, and looked out 
upon the clear, starlit October sky. The bright 
lights shining there so steadily and kindly seemed 
to look down on her like the eye of God ; and there 
came to her a sudden realization that now she 
could repeat the poem, and feel that she meant 
every word of it. 

“ I was tired yesterday, but not to-day. 

I could run and not be weary, 

This blessed way; 

For I have his strength to stay me, 

With his might my feet are shod. 

I can find my resting-places 
In the promises of God.” 

She turned from the window with a joy in her 
heart that had never been there before. 


WORK. 


4 7 


CHAPTER V. 

WORK. 

W HILE Katharine was getting breakfast 
Monday morning, old Andy came in with 
wood to fill the box behind the stove. He dusted 
his hands off, after laying the wood nicely in the 
box, and stood a moment with his rough fingers 
spread out before the fire. It was a chilly morn¬ 
ing, and the warmth was grateful to those worn, 
hard-worked hands. 

“Oh, an’ wasn’t that a sermon, Miss Katha¬ 
rine ? ” he said, as he moved his hands to let the 
warmth reach every part of them. “It jus’ did 
my heart good. It jus’ do seem that the preacher 
have the truth hid in his heart, an’ he know how 
to tell it out too! An’ that is a wonderful text, 
that is. I’ve been a-thinkin’ about it greatly 
since you spoke of it last week. I have been a - 
thinkin’ how we jus’ ought to get right down on 
our knees an’ thank the Lord every day that he 
be so kind an’ willin’ as to let us take his yoke 
upon us, an’ that he will bear it with us. Instead 
o’ that, we some of us go on every day, an’ never 
so much as try to get the yoke to make the work 
easy. Why, Miss Katharine, I’ve many a time 


48 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


laid out to do a piece of work which I thought 
would benefit the Lord a great deal. I jus’ went 
ahead and tried it, an’ ’twouldn’t work,— o’ course 
’twouldn’t. People, when they doos those things 
without consultin’ the Lord to see if it’s what 
he would have ’em do, has jus’ got to make up 
their minds that ’twon’t work. They ain’t a-wear- 
in’ his yoke when they go on that line. Why, 
you see the verse goes on to say, * And learn of 
me,’ an’ if they ain’t a-learnin’ of him they ain’t 
got on his yoke, that’s all. There’s a heap of 
work a-lyin’ round, ready cut out an’ basted, fur 
us to go at; an’ if we prefer to go ahead an’ cut 
out our own work, without even asking him fer his 
pattern and gettin’ his advice, we kin decide it’ll 
be a failure an’ a botch ; that’s the whole on it. 
That’s what my mother used to tell the girls 
when they wanted to make their own dresses ’fore 
they was old enough an’ wise enough ; an’ they 
tried it once or twice, an’ they see ’twas jus’ as 
she says. It don’t pay to go to work ’thout 
learnin’ of him.” And the old man shook his 
head thoughtfully, and looked at the glowing 
coals. 

“How can you learn of him, Andy?” asked 
Katharine. She was interested in this subject. 
It struck home. She thought of her own small 
attempt at work yesterday, and its failure, and 
wondered if here were not the secret of her diffi¬ 
culty. 

“Learn o’ him? Why, jus’ go an’ get ac- 


WORK. 


49 


quainted with him. You want to read the Book 
about him, an’ get so well acquainted with him as 
he was, that you know jus’ what he’d do if he was 
in your place. Then you have to ask him to help, 
you know; an’ he always do that. He alius carry 
the heavy end of the yoke hisself.” 

“ But it would take a long time to find out all 
about him,” said Katharine, “and Mr. Richards 
said that people ought to go right to work as 
quick as they belong to him. One would have to 
read the Bible through to know all about him, 
and then they couldn’t remember half they read.” 

“Oh, but, Miss Katharine, you do not need to 
wait. You go to our Father, an’ he takes you, an’ 
you ask him to put you to work, an’ he says, ‘I 
will, my child; ’ an’ you ask him to take your 
wicked, sinful heart away, an’ give you a good 
heart, an’ he puts his Spirit in your heart, an’ then 
you keep your eyes wide open, an’ begin to learn 
about him, an’ love him as fas’ as you can, an’ be¬ 
gin to love everybody else, an’ you’ll see plenty to 
do fer ’em. You grow so you find the work pop¬ 
ping up at every turn. You may set it down as 
pretty sure that when you find a place you can’t 
work in, or when you do something where you 
can’t see a bit of work to do for him, then you 
better get out of it. It ain’t the vineyard if there 
ain’t any work in it for you, an’ his children has 
no business anywhere outside of the vineyard fer 
a minit.” 

“ But,” said Katharine, half-laughing at the odd 


50 Katharine’s yesterday. 

way in which he put it, “ that can’t be true, Andy, 
for that would cut a Christian off from ever play¬ 
ing any games, or having any good times.” 

“ How so, Miss Katharine ? I can’t see ’twould 
work that way.” 

“ Why, Andy, people can’t do any good by play¬ 
ing games. There is no possible way in which 
they could do any work for the Lord by that.” 

“ Better stop it, then, Miss Katharine. But I 
don’t see it that way. There’s that there pretty 
game you play out on my green lawn that I 
mowed so nice for you the other day, where you 
have a fish-net strung up, and knock little white 
balls over it. I can’t play it myself, but I like 
to see it, an’ I feel every time when I see some of 
you young folks out there playin’, an’ a-seemin’ to 
enjoy it all so much, that that’s just what our 
Father wants us to do. I can think o’ lots o’ 
ways that there game might be made to come 
inside the vineyard. There ain’t nothin’ at all to 
prevent. I s’pose you could find a whole lot in 
this very town that would give their two eyes 
to get a chance at that there bat an’ ball, an’ 
be allowed to skip round on that pretty grass. 
Then you know we were told to go fishin’ after 
other folks, an’ bring ’em into the kingdom ; an’ 
it ’pears to me that there game would make 
jus’ the best kind of bait. You young folks all 
seem to enjoy it so much, that it stands to reason 
other young folks would too; an’ if they could 
be given a chance, perhaps ’twould give you a 


WORK. 


5 


hold on ’em, an’ then the way o’ the Lord would 
open wide enough, an’ you would find the harvest 
in your corner o’ the vineyard bigger than you 
could tend to all by yourself, an’ you’d have to 
call in some one to help you. But I must be 
a-goin’ now ; I’ve got warm. You jus’ try that 
game, Miss Katharine, an’ see ef it don’t make 
good bait. Good-mornin’.” 

Katharine was astonished over this part of the 
conversation. It had not occurred to her as pos¬ 
sible that she could work by means of her pleas¬ 
ures. She had sorrowfully packed her rackets 
away in flannel only a day or two before, thinking 
that she should have no more tennis until the 
next summer. Hers was the only tennis court in 
the village, and she was the only one of the young 
people living there who played or understood the 
game at all. Now a new thought had come to 
her. Perhaps she might make her tennis help. 
She was very quiet at the breakfast-table, think¬ 
ing about it, but coming to no conclusion until 
she heard her brother say, — 

“ It’s dreadfully stupid nowadays. I wish there 
was a circus or a county fair or a base-ball game 
to see, or something going on;” and he yawned 
and scowled, and looked out of the window in a 
hopelessly dreary way. 

A thought came to Katharine. She waited a 
minute, considering it before she spoke, and then 
said, “John, suppose you come up this afternoon 
about half-past three, and play tennis with me.” 


52 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


It was said in a pleasant tone, and there was 
actually a smile on Katharine’s face. John looked 
at her with amazement a moment, and then de¬ 
cided to take it all as a joke, and replied in a gruff 
tone,— 

“ I can’t play tennis.” 

“Well, it’s very easy to learn. I think I can 
teach you in a little while so that you can beat 
me. Boys always play better than girls after they 
get a start,” said Katharine pleasantly. 

“Do you mean it, really?” said John, looking 
pleased, and beginning to take an interest. “ I 
always thought I’d like to play, but never could 
get a chance to get the hang of the thing when 
there wasn’t a whole lot round watching. I didn’t 
want to make a fool of myself, and none of ’em 
seemed to want me, anyway; so I kept out of 
the way.” 

It was strange what an effect this had upon 
Katharine. She felt ashamed and glad and 
sorry, all in one. To think that her brother had 
wanted to join in her pleasure, and had been kept 
out partly by herself! Perhaps he might have 
been as good a player as any one, and have 
learned many things from associations with the 
others. She was gleeful, too, to think that the 
“bait,” as Andy had called it, had taken so well 
at the start. She resolved to do her best toward 
making her brother John love tennis as well as 
she did. 

“But I haven’t any racket,” said John, a dis- 


WORK. 


53 


mayed look coming over his face, as he suddenly 
thought of a new objection. 

“Oh, yes! there’s one. Cousin Hetty left hers. 
She said it wasn’t of any use to take it home, 
because she wouldn’t be where she could play 
all the fall, and she expected to be back here early 
in the spring. She said I could use it whenever 
I wanted to.” 

Katharine went about her work after breakfast 
with a lighter heart than she had carried since her 
friends left. There was something very pleasant 
in anticipating a game of tennis, considering that 
she had not played for nearly a week, and that 
she had supposed that pleasure over for the sum¬ 
mer. Then it was interesting to try to teach her 
brother. But beneath it all was a joy which she 
had scarcely begun to understand yet, — the joy 
of doing work for Christ. 


54 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


CHAPTER VI. 


BAIT. 


HE game of tennis was quite successful. 



Jl John proved an apt scholar, and before long 
could hit the ball in a very commendable manner; 
then, too, he gained a new respect for his sister 
when he found she could strike and place a ball 
so that he could not reach it. He made up his 
mind to become a good player, and be equal with 
her. So he put his will to it, and straightway 
won a game from her. They played on till called 
to tea, and then came in with bright eyes and 
glowing cheeks, laughing and talking together as 
their mother could not remember to have seen 
them do since they were little children. Kath¬ 
arine felt proud of John, and told with glee some 
comical remark of his to her father and mother at 
the supper-table. Her father looked at her in a 
pleased way, and the mother dropped her anxious, 
worried expression. Altogether it was a very 
happy evening. John stayed at home, and Kath¬ 
arine spent some time in explaining to him the 
intricacies of a game with four players; and they 
decided that after he had had a little more prac¬ 
tice they would try to get some of the other 


BAIT. 


55 


young people in town to purchase rackets and 
learn the game, that they might have a full set. 
Really, John was growing almost as enthusiastic 
over it as Katharine. It was quite a new order of 
things for him to take any such interest in home 
amusements, and it made his mother’s troubled 
heart glad. 

It became the rule now to play tennis every 
afternoon ; and soon two other young people came 
to learn. The autumn was stretched out much be¬ 
yond its usual length ; and many days that were, 
strictly speaking, early winter, were pronounced 
just delightful for tennis. There was no mistak¬ 
ing the fact that tennis had taken a firm hold on 
John Bowman, and was rapidly growing popular 
with several other young people in the village; 
and Katharine, who had always heretofore been so 
reserved, and kept much to herself when her sum¬ 
mer friends were not with her, was becoming the 
centre of attraction. She was rather astonished 
over it when she realized it herself, and remem¬ 
bered Andy’s words, “ I think that there game 
would make good bait.” It was very evident that 
the bait was good, but she began to question 
whether she were using it in the right way. She 
had gone for several weeks to the young people’s 
prayer-meeting, and was becoming quite inter¬ 
ested in it. She had even timidly ventured to re¬ 
cite a Bible verse once or twice; but she had 
never invited John since that first night in which 
he had repulsed her. Now she began to think 


56 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


about the matter again. He had not been to 
church since that Sabbath when the sermon had 
so impressed her. She was much troubled about 
him. She was beginning to love him in a differ¬ 
ent, more interested way than she had ever loved 
him before. Indeed, she had been praying for 
him not a little lately, but in that timid, half-unbe¬ 
lieving way in which we sometimes pray for our 
friends, feeling that God has told us to do it, and 
therefore we ought, and that we wish them to be 
different, but we cannot see how it is possible 
that they can be changed; that it may come some 
time away in the distant future, but that it will 
have to come in some mysterious, gradual way, 
and that therefore there is no need for undue 
haste or earnestness. 

Katharine had been thinking it over one morn¬ 
ing, and had resolved that she would make an¬ 
other attempt to get John to the young people’s 
meeting. She had just decided how she would 
introduce the subject, and was smiling over the 
way in which she thought her brother would reply, 
when she heard a ring at the door-bell, and went 
to answer it. 

It was a young lady, a little older than Katha¬ 
rine, a member of the young people’s society, and 
she had come to see if Katharine would lead the 
next Sabbath evening’s meeting. She asked it in 
a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, as if she supposed, of 
course, it would be the most natural thing in the 
world for Katharine to say “Yes.” But Katha- 


BAIT. 


5 7 


rine’s heart came up and stood in her mouth in 
amazement and horror. She lead a meeting ? 
No, indeed ! She could not possibly do it! She 
was sorry they thought of such a thing. She 
never could lead a meeting; she would break 
down. 

Then the elder young woman looked at her 
kindly, and said, “ Dear Miss Bowman, do you 
think it is right for a child of the heavenly Father 
to feel that way ? ” 

“ Right ? ” said Katharine in amazement. 

“Yes, right. You have no physical inability. 
You are perfectly able to conduct the meeting. 
You help us in everything else. In all our socials 
and concerts and entertainments you are willing 
to take prominent parts. Why should you be un¬ 
willing, then, to lead the meeting ? We all take 
our turn; why should you not do it too? You 
surely are not ashamed of your Saviour?” 

“ No,” said Katharine, with burning cheeks and 
eyes cast down; “but I’m sure I never could do 
that. I’m not good enough. Why, I’ve only just 
begun myself! ” 

“ We do not any of us feel that we have over 
much goodness, Miss Bowman ; and I think you 
will find that even if you have just started out, 
this will be a help to you. It was to me. I felt 
stronger after I had done something like this. It 
is witnessing for him, you know. And really I 
think you exaggerate the duties of a leader. It is 
nothing so very difficult that you have to do. We 


58 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


usually open with singing once or twice, and then 
prayer and the reading of the Bible. The topic is 
selected on our cards, you know; and you can say 
a few words about the verses, or not, as you like. 
After that there are usually several short prayers. 
Why, the meeting will run itself ; it only needs a 
head. But we want you very much to join in 
with us and help. Can’t you do it for Christ’s 
sake? He has done so much for us, you know; it 
seems a small thing for us to do for him.” 

But it required much more persuasion and argu¬ 
ment before Katharine, with almost trembling 
lips, and eyes that were brimful of tears, mur¬ 
mured a low, “I will try.” 

Her heart trembled many times for the next 
few days over what she had promised to do, and 
she wished again and again that she could take 
back her promise. She spent many hours over 
her Bible, studying what she should say; but she 
did not carry out her plan for inviting her brother 
to attend the meeting. That was more than flesh 
and blood could stand, she thought,—to lead a 
meeting, and have one’s brother there besides. 

The Sabbath morning came at last, and Kath¬ 
arine compromised with her conscience by asking 
John to go to church in the morning. He surely 
ought to do that; and it was not to be expected 
that it would be possible to get him to go twice in 
one day. John went to church, and really seemed 
to listen part of the time. Katharine spent the 
whole afternoon in her room with her Bible, and 


BAIT. 


59 


much of the time she was upon her knees asking 
God’s Spirit to help her. She seemed to come 
nearer to her heavenly Father that afternoon than 
ever before, and to feel his hand upon her, and to 
hear his voice saying, “ Be not afraid, neither be 
thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee 
whithersoever thou goest.” 

When she came down-stairs, ready for meeting, 
there was a more peaceful expression on her face, 
and her heart felt a little more assured over the 
new duty which she was going out to perform. 

But her brother John met her in the hall below. 
“ Where are you going, Kathie ? ” he asked. “ To 
that meeting ? Guess I’ll go with you, and see 
what it’s like.” 

The Katharine of other days might have told 
him coldly that she did not wish his company, or 
preferred to go alone, or something of that sort; 
but she did not dare to do so now, after wishing 
so long that he would go. 

They walked out the door and down the street 
in silence, the sister’s heart throbbing painfully. 
How could she lead that meeting with her brother 
there ? All her past inconsistencies and disagree¬ 
ableness arose before her, and threatened to kill 
her with the awful weight of their immensity. 
She bowed her head in the darkness, and tried to 
press back the tears that were on the very verge 
of rolling down her cheeks. At last she made a 
desperate effort at self-control, and said in rapid, 
trembling voice, “John, perhaps you won’t like it 


6o 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


if I don’t tell you beforehand. I'm going to lead 
that meeting to-night.” 

It was out now; and she shuddered to think 
how hard it had been, and hoped with her whole 
heart that Johp would say that he guessed he had 
better not go, that it might be embarrassing, or 
something of the sort. But no; he only drew a 
long whistle, and said, — 

“The dickens, you are ! Well, I’m glad I picked 
out to-night to sample it, then. I didn’t know you 
ever did that sort of thing.” 

“I never did before, John. I don’t know how 
I shall get on. But I am trying to please Christ 
now. I am almost afraid to have you go, be¬ 
cause you will think I am not in earnest about 
it. I am afraid you will remember how many 
times I have been cross and ugly to you.” 

The tears had actually come now, and her voice 
was trembling. 

“ Why, Kathie,” said her brother, almost ten¬ 
derly, touched and embarrassed, and scarcely 
knowing what to say to this unusual outburst, 
“you’re just splendid now! You don’t get cross 
any more — much. I wondered what it was about. 
But you can lead a meeting better than the whole 
lot of ’em put together, I’ll bet. Don’t you 
worry ” 


A NEW LAW. 


61 


CHAPTER VII. 

A NEW LAW. 

H ER brother’s words, spoken in that new tone 
of disguised tenderness, helped Katharine 
wonderfully. She went up to the leader’s seat by 
the little table with a feeling that she had one 
friend in the room at least. It was new to look 
to her brother for anything, and the last thing 
that was to be expected from him was encourage¬ 
ment. Could it be possible that he had learned 
this from her own helpful encouragement of him 
when he made a blunder in tennis ? Katharine 
did not think of this as she took her seat and 
opened the hymn-book; she only knew that it was 
very pleasant to have her brother speak that way 
to her, and she felt a longing to have this meeting 
such as would help him to find Christ. 

In the few words that she spoke when she 
bowed her head to open the meeting with prayer, 
she tried to forget that there was any one else 
present but herself and God, and she asked him 
to bless the meeting. The meeting did run itself, 
as the young committee-woman had told Katha¬ 
rine, and was a very earnest one. For her own 
part in it Katharine read the little poem which 


62 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


had grown so dear to her. She read it beauti¬ 
fully, putting her whole heart into it; and her 
brother, as he listened carefully to every word, 
noting with pride the distinct pronunciation and 
perfect expression, said to himself, “She means 
that. She feels every speck of it. She is differ¬ 
ent. I wonder what it all is, anyway.” Then 
there came into his heart just the faintest little 
bit of a desire to know the wonderful difference 
himself. 

When the meeting was over, John waited quiet¬ 
ly for her at the door. He reached his hand fof 
her Bible, and walked beside her without speak¬ 
ing for some time, but with an air of quiet re¬ 
spect, and an elder brotherly care of her which 
was quite new and pleasant. She could not speak 
first, her heart seemed so full. During the meet¬ 
ing a strange, earnest longing had come over her 
for him. She wanted so much to have him know 
the love of Christ. 

“ That was a first-class meeting, Katharine,” he 
said at last, breaking the silence with an almost 
embarrassed tone. “None of them can go ahead 
of you on leading, / know. You can do most any¬ 
thing you try, anyway.” 

Then the longings of the sister’s heart arose to 
her lips: “O John,” she said, her voice trem¬ 
bling with earnestness, “ I don’t know how to lead 
meetings, nor do any of these things. They are 
all new work to me; but I mean to learn, and I do 
wish so much you would help me 1 ” 


A NEW LAW. 


63 


It was John’s turn to be surprised now. He 
almost stopped short on the sidewalk with aston¬ 
ishment. “ Me help !” he exclaimed. “ What on 
earth could I do? I’m not any account. You’ve 
told me so yourself hundreds of times.” 

“Oh, I know it, John!” she said in a pained 
voice, the tears coming quickly to her eyes, “and 
I’m so sorry. It wasn’t true, and you could help 
me more than any other person.” 

“ How in the world can I help you ? What is it 
you want me to do?” asked John, quite tenderly 
and anxiously. He was not used to being asked 
by his sister for help, nor to seeing her in such a 
mood. 

“ Help me by trying to be a Christian with me. 
Won’t you ? ” she asked eagerly. “ We could work 
together, and help each other then ; and I do so 
want you to belong to Jesus. Will you, John?” 
She put her hand lovingly into her brother’s, and 
waited for his answer. 

He closed his fingers about her hand with a 
warm, earnest pressure, and there was a manly 
expression on his face. He was very much 
touched. Perhaps his heart was all ready for 
the invitation, only no one had ever before given 
it. “What would I have to do?” he said at 
length, hesitatingly. Katharine had waited for 
his reply with her heart throbbing, and sending 
up eager, longing prayers to her Father in heaven 
to send his Spirit to speak to this dear brother. 

“ I am afraid I do not know very well how to 


64 Katharine’s yesterday. 

tell you,” she said, clasping his hand a little 
tighter in token of her great joy that his answer 
had not been “No.” “I’ve only just begun my¬ 
self, you know. The first thing is to give your¬ 
self to Jesus Christ. Tell him you want to be 
forgiven for all the wrong you have done, and 
you will be his forever, and try to please him 
always. Then after that pray every day for help, 
and read the Bible, and try harder all the time to 
please him. I’m only just finding out myself how 
to do it, and I want you to help, you know. You 
won’t say no, will you ? Oh, I need you so much ! ” 

John hesitated, started to speak two or three 
times, then waited, and Katharine made several 
earnest pleas, always ending with her petition, 
“O John, won’t you do it?” 

At last, just as they reached their own gate, he 
said in a low voice, so low it was almost a whis¬ 
per, “ I guess so. I’ll try.” 

“O John, I’ni so glad !” she said joyfully; and 
she reached up to her tall young brother and 
kissed him. He bore the kiss with much embar¬ 
rassment, and yet was pleased that she should 
give it. Katharine had never shown him much 
that she loved him, and he felt very tenderly 
toward her to-night. It was pleasant to have 
his sister care whether he became a Christian 
or not, pleasant to have her want his help. They 
went in the house together quietly then ; and the 
father and mother noticed the expression of their 
faces with wonder as they entered the room. 


A NEW LAW. 


65 


After that the brother and sister began to get 
acquainted with one another as they had never 
done before. They had many talks together about 
this new subject which was beginning to interest 
them. John was very shy whenever Katharine 
spoke about it, and yet he seemed pleased. He 
entered into the agreement with her at first more 
from a desire to please her; but little by little he 
grew to understand how much the promise he had 
made meant. Katharine watched over him con¬ 
stantly, guarding him from temptations as often 
as she could. She became wonderfully entertain¬ 
ing, so much so, that John began to prefer to stay 
at home, instead of wandering off with “ the fel¬ 
lows;” and gradually their religious talks grew 
longer, and themselves more interested, until it 
came about that every Sabbath afternoon, as a 
matter of course, instead of going out to take 
a walk, as had been his custom, John drew up a 
large arm-chair in the library bay window, and 
settled himself on the sofa opposite, motioning 
Katharine to take the chair. Then the two 
would read and talk together. They were trying 
to study the Bible in such a way as would give 
them practical help in their daily living, but did 
not always know the best way to do it. 

Thus the autumn slipped into the winter almost 
without their knowledge, and they grew daily more 
attached to one another, and more bound together 
in all their duties and enjoyments. Helping each 
other, they helped themselves. 


66 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


The tennis court was at last covered with a soft 
white blanket of snow, and left to take a little 
nap, and the real winter came prowling around to 
tuck it up, and scold and threaten because it had 
been so long used. 

Christmas came, and with it many beautiful re¬ 
membrances from the summer friends; and Katha¬ 
rine opened them in surprise, and almost sighed 
as she opened one small, thin package, neatly 
wrapped in white paper, and addressed in a bold, 
clear hand. Then she gave her undivided atten¬ 
tion to the package, and to the letter accom¬ 
panying it. The opened paper disclosed a small 
white-clad book with gold letters. “ The Greatest 
Thing in the World ” was the title. On the fly¬ 
leaf was written, “A Merry Christmas and Joyful 
New Year, from your friend, Frank Warner.” 
The pink stole over Katharine’s cheek, and a 
pleased look came into her eyes as she turned 
to the letter. It read : — 

My dear Friend, — The accompanying little book has 
helped me very much, and I pass it on to you in the 
hope that you will enjoy it as much as I have done. It is 
Professor Drummond’s address on that wonderful charity 
chapter, i Cor. xiii. You will notice that he asks all who 
will to read that chapter every day for three months. I have 
begun to do so. Will you join me in it for the first three 
months of the new year ? And may the greatest, the best 
thing in all the world be yours, is the wish of your friend, 

Frank Warner. 

The next Sabbath afternoon the new book was 
brought out and read; and not only the sister, but 


A NEW LAW. 


67 


the brother, joined the young man in reading that 
marvellous chapter every day. It opened up to 
them new thoughts. Assisted by Professor Drum¬ 
mond’s clear, helpful words, they studied Paul’s 
analysis of “love,” and tried to measure their own 
lives by it, and alter them so that they would fit 
the perfect pattern. 


68 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TO-MORROW. 

I T was a lovely spring day. The air was soft 
and caressing; the tender young leaves, which 
but the week before had first revealed their yel¬ 
low-green edges, were dancing merrily, trying 
to shake the wrinkles out of their new spring 
dresses, and feeling as much at home as the old 
evergreens, who had been in the world years and 
years ; the grass was made over new for the year, 
and was spangled with great bending daisies and 
saucy, nodding buttercups ; and the clear blue 
sky looked down with just as pleased and sur¬ 
prised an air as it had used for all the other 
bright spring days of all the centuries gone be¬ 
fore. 

About the little village station the greenness 
and springiness crept, even up to its very door. 
Down the track a few yards the great black 
drinking-hose which the engines used stood 
grinning, now and then sending a large, bright 
drop down with a gleeful plash, which bounded 
into little sprinkles over the board below. The 
bright st$el rails gleamed in the sunshine, and 
hummed a cheerful prelude for the train that was 
approaching. 


TO-MORROW. 


69 


Katharine and her brother came with rapid 
steps down the street to the station. There was 
an eager, expectant look on Katharine’s face that 
betokened some unusual pleasure. The house 
they had just left betokened it too. The win¬ 
dows were open, the summer curtains airing their 
freshness in the breeze ; little vases of spring 
blossoms stood around on tiny stands ; and every¬ 
thing seemed in summer holiday attire. And the 
curtains, as they blew; the rooms, in their quiet 
cleared-upness; the flowers, as they smiled — 
all seemed to say joyfully, “ Cousin Hetty and 
the rest are coming to-day, and we are ready and 
glad.” 

All but John. He had been dreading the sum¬ 
mer. Katharine was beginning to be “ so nice ; ” 
and now, of course, all their good times would be 
broken up. She would go off with the rest, and 
he would be left to himself. He did not blame 
her; but he sighed a little, and looked glum over 
the prospect. He had objected decidedly to ac¬ 
companying Katharine to the station. 

“ They don’t know me much, and won’t want 
to see me ; and I shall feel like a cat in a strange 
garret,” he had said. 

But Katharine had drawn her arm through his, 
and, looking up lovingly into his face, had an¬ 
swered, “ I intend they shall know you ‘ much/ 
and if they care to see much of me, they would 
better want to see you too; for they will soon find 
out that I can’t get along without my brother.” 


yo Katharine’s yesterday. 

Of course John went after that, though he did 
not in the least wish to ; but he thought if Kath¬ 
arine wanted him so much he might as well grat¬ 
ify her. 

The train proved to be seven minutes late; and 
as they stood on the platform waiting, Katharine 
looked off at the purple hills, which seemed to 
have planted themselves at the end of the track, 
and thought of that other day when she had 
looked gloomily forward at the winter, just 
passed. How bright it seemed to her now! 
What a difference there was in her life ! It 
was no longer made up of much dull work, with 
only the little play spell of summer thrown in at 
long intervals, but was bright and happy all the 
way through. The coming of her summer 
friends she looked at in a different light now. 
It was indeed a delight to think of seeing and 
being with them once more; but it was, after all, 
but a pleasant incident, and not at all the one end 
and aim of existence, as heretofore. She looked 
at her brother proudly, comparing him with what 
he used to be, and wondering if the rest of the 
young people would see and appreciate him as 
she did herself. But the shriek of the whistle 
interrupted her meditations. 

After that there was a merry bustle, a thump¬ 
ing of trunks, a babel of gay voices, and confu¬ 
sion generally. John took the checks, and kept 
himself usefully in the background ; but his sister 
brought him proudly forward as soon as possible. 


TO-MORROW. 


7* 


All the way home Katharine surprised the trav¬ 
ellers by constantly appealing to John on ques¬ 
tions connected with church-work. 

“ I didn’t know there was so much in John 
Bowman,” said one of the girls in an undertone 
to her companion. 

“ I think he must have changed a good deal,” 
was the murmured reply. 

Notwithstanding, this same young woman was 
disappointed that afternoon when the girls, being 
eager for a first game of tennis, begged Katharine 
to bring her racket and help make up the set, and 
she replied, “ I shall be busy for a little while 
this afternoon, but John will take my place.” 

There was nothing to be done but gracefully 
accept the situation and begin the game. She 
felt sure John Bowman could not play, and did 
not enjoy the prospect of being his partner. She 
changed her mind, however, before an hour had 
passed, and voted him a “splendid player, really 
quite scientific, besides being very pleasant com¬ 
pany.” Gradually they all came to accept him 
and enjoy him just as Katharine had intended 
they should. 

But over his sister they were much puzzled. 
The Katharine of last summer was not wont to 
be occupied with anything that took her from 
their company, unless earnestly solicited by her 
mother to come and help her. This Katharine 
was busy from morning till night, and happy 
through it all. When she was with them, she 


72 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


was, as always, the life of the company ; but she 
went from them to some duty with a complacent 
face, as though she really liked to go. Then she 
not only attended and enjoyed the prayer-meet¬ 
ings of the church, but seemed to expect them 
to do so also. 

When the little, leather-bound diary was 
brought out and read, the girls found the rec¬ 
ords very different from those they had expected. 
There were, indeed, many bright and original sen¬ 
tences, and there were whole pages of descrip¬ 
tions, — beautiful, tender, witty, and grotesque ; 
but there was a something left out, especially in 
the later entries, which had given the former 
Katharine’s speeches much fascination, but could 
hardly be called quite charitable. Katharine was 
learning the old law of love, and putting it into 
practice. There were so many sympathetic, 
thoughtful touches in the small book, that they 
filled the place of the sharp sarcasms which were 
not present. 

Cousin Hetty smiled to herself as she watched 
Katharine, filled almost with wonder to see how 
the soul in her had grown. 

“ She is indeed a child of the King,” she wrote 
to her mother ; “ she shows it in every word and 
action, and John is not far behind her. Not that 
she is so very ‘ good,’ mamma, as people say, or 
that she has attained to any perfection, but she 
seems to recognize Jesus Christ as the Leader of 
her life, the One first to be pleased always.” 


TO-MORROW. 


73 


The young men noticed it too, when they came, 
and one of them felt that a prayer of his had been 
answered. Indeed, Frank Warner felt, as he 
watched Katharine day by day, that she had gone 
far beyond him in her Christian life. 

“ Miss Katharine, you seem different this sum¬ 
mer from last,” he said to her one evening as 
they walked down the moonlit village street, the 
last of the procession of young people who had 
gone out to enjoy the full moon. “ Will you tell 
me how it is ? ” 

“Am I different ?” she asked, with a happy lit¬ 
tle laugh ; then, more soberly, “ I’m glad you think 
so. There ought to be a great difference, but 
there isn’t as much as I wish.” 

“ And what has made this difference ? May I 
know about it ? ” he asked. 

She was still for a moment, and then slowly, 
almost timidly, began to recite the little poem 
which had grown to seem a part of her life, — 

“ I was poor yesterday, but not to-day; 

For Jesus came this morning, 

And took the poor away.” 

Through to the end she repeated it, her voice 
very sweet and low; and he listened, taking the 
words into his heart, to be kept for a sacred mem¬ 
ory. 

“ That is the reason why there is a difference,” 
she said, “ if there be any. The restlessness and 
uneasiness are all gone from my heart now. I 


74 


Katharine’s yesterday. 


feel as if Jesus had forgiven me. Your little book 
has helped me too. I have read that chapter of 
Corinthians every day this year, and it grows 
more wonderful every time I read it.” 

The moonlight sifting through the leaves made 
a corridor of soft light for them to walk in. The 
hum of the crickets, the occasional lifting of some 
leaf by the night wind, and worried song of a 
mother-bird singing a late lullaby to her naughty 
babies — all seemed to lend a solemn quiet to the 
air about, and to help them to talk about this 
great subject, and open their hearts to one an¬ 
other as they had not done before. Gradually the 
voices of the others grew fainter, as the steps of 
these two grew slower, and they held sweet con¬ 
verse of their heavenly Father. It seemed, in¬ 
deed, as though he were near, listening; and 
when, in the quietness of her own room that 
night, Katharine thought over that walk and talk, 
the words of a familiar old poem came to her 
mind,— 


“ And the Lord, standing quietly by 
In the shadows dim, 

Smiling, perhaps, in the darkness, 

To hear our sweet, sweet talk of him.” 

There came a day, at the close of the sum¬ 
mer, when Katharine stood beside the front gate 
once more, thinking. The summer friends had all 
flitted again, and another winter was about to be¬ 
gin ; but Katharine was not dreaming of her yes- 


TO-MORROW. 


75 


terday this time, nor even of her to-day, but was 
taking a little peep into a very bright to-morrow 
— a to-morrow in which she was to help Frank 
Warner be a good minister, and he was to help 
her be the minister's wife. 

John came down the walk and stood beside her, 
resting his hand upon her shoulder. She looked 
up at his face, and saw in it a little of that sense 
of left-aloneness which had made her so miser¬ 
able a year ago, and she roused from her sweet 
thoughts to cheer him up. 

But John will never be troubled by the dreari¬ 
ness of a to-day; for his sister no longer lives in 
her yesterdays, and he has learned the secret of 
making all the to-days bright by looking forward 
to a joyful to-morrow. 





















CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


I T was Wednesday evening, and the minister s 
family had just returned from prayer-meeting. 
The minister threw himself wearily into one of his 
low study chairs, and shaded his face with his 
hand. The bright moonlight streamed through 
the window by his side, and made a soft pathway 
over the carpet at his feet; but he did not notice 
it. Through the open door another pathway of 
light from the hall lamp almost met the moon¬ 
light. The minister’s wife stood in this pathway, 
and threw a long shadow across the room. She 
was slowly pulling off her gloves, and casting un¬ 
easy glances at the dim outline of her husband. 
Lily, her young sister, who was there on a visit, 
stood in the hall by the hat-rack, taking off her 
hat, and pushing up the fluffy hair on her fore¬ 
head. 

Presently Mr. Murray broke the silence. “I 
don’t see but we might as well give up the prayer¬ 
meeting. The people won’t come.” 

“ Why, James ! ” exclaimed his astonished wife. 
“Give up the prayer-meeting ! You surely don’t 
mean that! ” 


77 



78 CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 

“I don’t know but I do. Just look at it, Mat- 
tie. Here it was a lovely night, the church was 
lighted brightly, everything was favorable to a 
good attendance; and there were old Deacon El- 
dred and his wife, who are hardly able to come 
out, and Mrs. Moker, who is too deaf to hear a 
word that’s said, and Father Fisk, who always 
makes the same prayer, and the two Brunig sis¬ 
ters, and no one but yourself and Lily who could 
sing at all. It’s a mere farce calling it a church 
prayer-meeting. There are two hundred and fifty- 
seven members of this church, and there weren’t 
but seven out to meeting. It would be a great 
deal better to invite them to our house than to 
have them rattling around in the four corners of 
that large room.” Here the minister smiled a sad, 
faint smile, and leaned back again in his chair. 

“ It’s a perfect shame!” said his wife, as she 
untied her bonnet strings. 

“ I’m sure I’ve tried to make the meetings 
interesting,” came from behind the minister’s 
hand; “ but Deacon Eldred always goes to sleep, 
— he’s getting old, you know, — and Father Fisk 
doesn’t understand anything but the very sim¬ 
plest sentences. If only more would come ! ” 

“ Never mind,” said Mrs. Murray. “ We haven’t 
been here very long, and you know they told you 
the people were not in the habit of attending the 
prayer-meeting regularly. Perhaps they will do 
better after a while. Why, we haven’t been here 
but eight weeks! You make the meetings so 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 79 

interesting that they can’t help but come soon, 
I’m sure.” 

“My dear!” said Mr. Murray, in a tone border¬ 
ing just the least bit on the impatient, “ how can 
they know that the meetings are interesting when 
they don’t come near them to find out ? I can’t 
understand how people who are under covenant 
vows to attend the regular services of the church 
can have so far forgotten their vows as to habitu¬ 
ally stay away from prayer-meeting.” 

Lily turned away from the glass with a last 
push up of the hair, and went to the doorway. 
“They ought to have such an article in their 
church creed as we have in the constitution of our 
young people’s society of Christian Endeavor at 
home,” said she. 

“What is that ? ” asked Mrs. Murray in a rather 
abstracted tone. 

“Why, they are required to send a written 
excuse when they are absent from the regular 
monthly consecration meeting, and it must be 
an excuse that they can conscientiously give to 
God. The excuses are read in the meetings, and 
it adds a great deal of interest I assure you. The 
night before I left was our monthly consecra¬ 
tion meeting. Several were obliged to be absent, 
and the excuses they sent were very helpful. I 
remember Fred Burton wrote, ‘ I am sorry not to 
be able to be with you this evening, but the Mas¬ 
ter’s work calls me in another direction. Young 
Philips is very low, and I stay with him to-night. 


So 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


May I ask that he have the prayers of the meet¬ 
ing ? ’ And Lucy Reynolds wrote, ‘ Illness keeps 
me at home to-night, but my heart is with you.’ 
Oh, we have such good times in our Christian 
Endeavor society, Mattie ! ” and Lily launched 
into a full account of their doings at home, which 
continued till she bade them good-night. 

No more heard the minister. He had a new 
thought which must be turned over in his mind. 
He was his own cheerful self the next morning, 
and seemed to have forgotten all about his small 
prayer-meeting. 

The days slipped by pleasantly enough, and the 
Sabbath dawned. The congregation had just 
settled themselves into sermonful repose. The 
minister was reading the last notice, as they sup¬ 
posed — that same old one about the weekly 
prayer-meeting which had grown so familiar that 
it seemed to go in one ear and out of the other; 
or perhaps, like the fishes of Mammoth Cave, 
because of long disuse, they had lost the faculty 
by which that notice about the prayer-meeting 
entered into their inner consciousness. 

But Mr. Murray did not open the Bible and 
announce his text as they expected he would do. 
Instead, he stepped a little farther toward the 
front of the platform, and said, “Will all the 
members of the church who are unable for any 
reason to be present at the prayer-meeting this 
week, please send an excuse in writing, on or 
before Wednesday evening, that it may be read 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


81 


at the meeting. It will be very pleasant to feel 
that we have the prayers and sympathy of the 
friends who are obliged to be absent. Any ex¬ 
cuse which we can conscientiously give to the 
Lord Jesus Christ will answer the purpose, and 
will give those of the members who are present 
the feeling that your heart is with us, although 
your body cannot be there.” 

Only these few words, and he opened the Bible 
and announced the text they had waited for; but 
they did not hear it. They were a startled audi¬ 
ence, or perhaps it would be better to say a com¬ 
pany of startled individuals ; for those who were 
in the habit of staying away from meeting of 
course did not know who else stayed away too, 
unless they were in their own family or their own 
immediate circle of friends, and so considered 
themselves, and not the whole congregation, ad¬ 
dressed. Mr. Murray might have recited the 
Shorter Catechism, or a few pages of the diction¬ 
ary or cyclopaedia, that morning, so far as any of 
it was heard by some of his audience. 

Deacon Eldred, not being hit, went to sleep as 
usual. Poor old Father Fisk never understood the 
sermons. Mrs. Moker was deaf, and the Brunig 
sisters were not there. Mrs. Murray was too much 
occupied in thinking what people would think 
about Mr. Murray to give much time to the ser¬ 
mon, though it was one of his very best; and Miss 
Lily was very much occupied in studying the faces 
about her, and finding out what people did think. 


82 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


Mrs. Hannibal Humphrey, under her new spring 
bonnet, was thinking something like this, “ The 
perfect idea! Send an excuse to him ! What 
business is it of his, I should like to know, what 
my excuse is for staying home from prayer-meet¬ 
ing ? ” She kept herself strictly to that point; 
for it was rather uncomfortable to think back to 
last Wednesday night, and see herself leisurely 
reading an intensely interesting book. However, 
she was already for this point if her conscience 
should bring it up. She might say that the book 
had to go back to the library the next day, and 
would require the evening to finish it, and she 
had no other time in which to read it. But her 
conscience did not bring it up. It knew it was 
of no use. Close by her side sat Mr. Hannibal 
Humphrey. He was not a member of the church. 
He did not consider himself included in the re¬ 
quest that the new minister had made ; but he 
thought it immensely amusing, and occupied the 
remainder of the hour in trying to frame an 
excuse for his wife. He often wrote responses 
to invitations for her, and on the way home he 
asked whether she would have it read : — 

My dear Pastor, — I am obliged to be absent from 
prayer-meeting this evening, as we are invited to a small 
company at Mrs. Sullivan’s, to meet their friend Miss Ro¬ 
chester, who is to leave town the next day. I am sorry I 
am unable to meet with you; but you see how it is. 

Very truly, 

Mrs. Hannibal Humphrey. 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 83 

Or did she intend, after all, to send regrets to 
Mrs. Sullivan’s, and have the card-party she had 
spoken of that morning ? In that case it should 
read : — 

Dear Mr. Murray, — I am sorry to be absent from 
the meeting Wednesday evening; but we have arranged to 
have a few friends to spend the evening, and have a quiet 
game of cards. I should be glad to have you and Mrs. 
Murray step in after meeting. 

Very truly, 

Mrs. Hannibal Humphrey. 

“ Perhaps, though,” he said, as he handed her 
gravely the slip from his hymn-book, on which he 
had written the sample notes during the closing 
prayer, “it would be as well to leave off that 
closing sentence, as the thing is to be read in the 
meeting, and some of the rest might feel hurt 
unless they were invited too.” But for some rea¬ 
son Mrs. Humphrey seemed not to wish to talk 
upon the subject, and told her husband that she 
thought he was very irreverent, whereat he laughed 
long and loud, disturbing Mrs. Humphrey’s feel¬ 
ings still more. 

Miss Effie Summers was a church-member, but 
she could hardly remember when she had been to 
prayer-meeting. Her aimless little mind began to 
search about for a reason why she had never been, 
and she had to admit to herself that it was because 
she had never thought of it. She almost smiled 
in church at the idea of herself at prayer-meeting. 
It had never occurred to her as a place where she 


84 CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 

would care to go. She looked down at her gloves, 
and admired their fit', and wondered if, after all, the 
ones with the darker stitching on the backs would 
have been a better match to her suit, and remem¬ 
bered that it was last Wednesday afternoon that 
she had bought them ; and that she had lounged 
in a big chair all the evening, eating cream-dates 
and talking nothings with her young cousin who 
chanced to come in, and never once thought there 
was a prayer-meeting. She made her silly little 
heart keep still by telling it that not thinking of a 
thing was a good excuse for not doing it, although 
there was a slight question somewhere which in¬ 
terfered with the satisfaction she felt in the fit 
of her gloves, and made her wonder whether she 
would like to stand up before the great God and 
offer that excuse. 

Mr. Worcester, just at her left, a tall, stern 
man of business, dismissed the prayer-meeting 
subject with these words : “ I really haven’t time 
for prayer-meeting. My hands are too full of 
business cares. I go to church on Sunday, and 
I’m sure I give a great deal to support the gos¬ 
pel, and that is all that can be expected of such 
a busy man as I am and his mind went off to 
a certain knotty point that he had not been quite 
able to decide the day before. 

Will Kenton glanced uneasily over at Effie 
Summers. He was a member of the church too; 
but he had arranged it in his sleek little head that 
very morning that he would call upon Miss Effie 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 85 

upon Wednesday evening, and secure her com¬ 
pany to the concert before that fellow from Bos¬ 
ton got ahead of him. He was the kind of man 
who felt uncomfortable at the request, therefore 
he looked at Miss Effie. She wouldn’t be likely 
to go to prayer-meeting. To be sure, he didn’t go 
often enough himself to know who went, but he 
knew her well enough to hazard a guess. Effie 
looked very pretty, and there was no other even¬ 
ing in which to call; for Monday evening was his 
club, and Tuesday was the whist party, and—just 
then the new glove went up to see if the new hat 
was straight, and the hand looked so very pretty 
that it carried the day. Then he told himself he 
really must go this time, and he would try and ar¬ 
range for the prayer-meeting another week. 

Tired little Mrs. Carroll heard the request with 
dismay. Here was something else that ought to 
have been done. She was so overcrowded with 
cares that she didn’t know which way to turn 
now. She thought back to last Wednesday 
night. She had just finished the twenty-seventh 
tuck in Lucy’s white organdie that afternoon, and 
was so tired she could hardly finish the tea dishes. 
She sat back easier then. It surely wasn’t her 
duty to go to prayer-meeting when she was so 
tired it would have made her sick ; yet she won¬ 
dered dimly in her weary brain if, after all, that 
tuck hadn’t been to blame, and whether she had 
any right to get so tired before the meeting. 
Would she like to present a tuck as her excuse 


86 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


to the Lord for not having attended his meeting ? 
Her heart was not at rest. There was another 
sister who remembered herself as having been 
too tired to go last Wednesday ; and she wondered 
if it would be necessary, in order to be strictly 
true, to say that she had been making pound¬ 
cake all the afternoon. 

Mr. Mosley remembered with grim satisfaction 
that he had had the neuralgia last Wednesday, 
and had not thought it prudent to go out in the 
evening air ; but he forgot that half an hour after 
the bell had ceased ringing he had gone to the 
door with Mr. Patterson, who had called on busi¬ 
ness, and there he had stood for full fifteen min¬ 
utes in a chill east wind, without so much as an 
overcoat or hat to protect him. 

There were many who did not think at all, and 
who forgot the minister’s request almost as soon 
as it was made, who had no idea of going to prayer¬ 
meeting, and who did not know as they ever would 
have. There was one young lady who declared 
on the way home that she never went to prayer- 
meetings, because she* did not enjoy them. She 
thought they were poky places, and made one feel 
awfully doleful. Her brother told her he thought 
that was an excellent reason — and would she like 
to have him write the excuse for her ? He would 
get it up in fine style; and he thought it would go 
ahead of most of the excuses other folks would 
write, because it was true, and no made-up reason. 
“ All the same, Lou,” said he, “ I can’t say I 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 87 

would like to give it to the One who is to test 
your excuses.” Then he whistled. He had 
never said anything so solemn as that in his 
whole life before, and he did not exactly know 
his own voice. And the sister said, “ Oh, non¬ 
sense ! ” but she did some thinking on the way 
home. 

There was much talk at the various dinner- 
tables of that congregation that day. Some 
thought the new pastor had taken a good deal 
upon him, and that he had no right to make such 
a request. “ I suppose I might ’a’ let the horses 
rest ’a’ Wednesday afternoon, and not ploughed 
the medder lot till Thursday,” said Farmer Ste¬ 
vens, as he took a bite of pork, and shovelled some 
beans into his mouth with his knife. “We ain’t 
been to prayer-meeting in a good while. I reckon 
we’d better try to go this week.” Meek little 
Mrs. Stevens’s face brightened, and she said she’d 
be real glad to go. She had missed the prayer¬ 
meeting, but she had never said so, and they lived 
so far out she hadn’t thought it very possible for 
them to go. The Haines household discussed the 
matter at the dinner-table. Little Nannie sat and 
listened, and, after turning it over in her mind for 
a time, bluntly asked of her elder sister, “Kit, why 
didn’t you go to prayer-meeting last Wednesday 
night? Oh, I remember! Your bonnet had just 
come home, and you didn’t like it, and tore it all 
to pieces to fix it over. Wouldn’t it ’a’ been 
funny if you had written to Mr. Murray, ‘ Please 


88 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


excuse me from going to the meeting, ’cause my 
bonnet don’t look right, and I have to trim it 
over’ ?” Amid the general laughter that followed, 
Miss Kittie told her sister she was a saucy little 
thing, and went to her room to quiet her upset 
nerves. There were some few who spent the 
Sabbath afternoon hours in serious thought and 
in making many resolves which meant much for 
the future of that church prayer-meeting. 

The Sabbath passed, and Monday and Tuesday. 
Wednesday came; the sun went down behind 
some lovely clouds, and the moon sailed out, with 
here and there some attendant blinking stars, and 
the bell for evening worship pealed out. The min¬ 
ister took his Bible under his arm, waited a mo¬ 
ment for his wife and Lily to pass out, then locked 
the door; and together they went down the street. 
Mrs. Murray felt decidedly nervous. Miss Lily, 
also, was a little excited ; for, from the other direc¬ 
tion, she could see the two Burnside girls with 
their brother, and she couldn’t help wondering 
whether it could be possible that they were com¬ 
ing to the meeting. But Mr. Murray walked si¬ 
lently along, not joining in the little hum of talk 
that his wife and her sister kept up. He was 
thinking of what he was to say to his people, and 
he felt no nervousness about the meeting; for he 
had spent much time in prayer that afternoon, and 
he knew that the meeting was in the hands of his 
heavenly Father, to prosper as he would. 

Early as they were, when they opened the door 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 89 

they saw the long rows of usually empty seats 
nearly filled, and more people were coming down 
the street. Lily noticed in surprise that the 
Burnsides were really coming up the steps. Vari¬ 
ous forces had combined to bring these people 
there. Miss Effie Summers was there because 
she had not anything to do, and it was a lovely 
night, and she had thought of it, and there really 
was not any reason why she should not go, just 
for once, and she supposed she ought to go some¬ 
times, anyway. Besides, it troubled her to think 
that she would need to present her excuse to the 
Lord. So she was there, and, upon being whis¬ 
pered with for a few minutes, reluctantly con¬ 
sented to preside at the organ. Will Kenton 
came in a little late, and somewhat flurried, hav¬ 
ing been to call upon Miss Effie; but upon being 
told that she had gone to meeting, he, in much 
amaze, had bowed himself out, and taken his way 
to the church. Mrs. Hannibal Humphrey was not 
there; but she had an excuse. She was neither at 
Mrs. Sullivan’s tea-party, nor entertaining com¬ 
pany herself. Instead, she had retired to a dark 
room with a sick-headache. Her unfeeling hus¬ 
band told her she had good taste, for he thought 
on the whole it would sound much better than 
either of the excuses he had written. However, 
she sent no excuse. Mr. Humphrey was there 
himself. It came about in this way. He had 
lounged around in the room, and read all the 
papers through, and it seemed very dull. Supper 


90 CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 

eaten all alone was a gloomy affair, and Mrs. 
Humphrey did not seem inclined to talk when 
he went up to see her. Then the church-bell 
rang; and the thought came, why should he not go 
to meeting? He believed he would go, just to 
see if there would be any excuses, and what they 
would be, and who would be there. He might be 
able to get some fun out of it; it certainly was 
stupid enough at home. So he went. Mr. Wor¬ 
cester was there because all the plans he had laid 
out for that evening came to naught. The man 
with whom he had made an appointment sent 
word he could not come; the book he had in¬ 
tended reviewing he had forgotten, and left in his 
down-town office; and the letters he had thought 
to answer did not come at all, the mail-train being 
delayed by an accident. The bell rang, and Mr. 
Worcester in despair took himself to the Lord’s 
house. Mr. Mosely did not have the neuralgia; 
and, being a prominent member of the church, he 
thought it would not do to utterly ignore the new 
pastor’s request, and so he went. Mrs. Carroll 
dragged her weary self to the church because her 
conscience troubled her for having allowed Lucy 
to coax her into buying her a dark-blue surah, and 
she hoped to find some peace of mind in going as 
a sort of penance. Not that she put it that way. 
She would have been shocked if you had sug¬ 
gested such a thing, and she kept it strictly a 
secret from her better self. The pound-cake wo¬ 
man even refrained from making an elaborate dish 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 91 

for tea that night that she might come to the 
meeting. 

There were of course the few faithful ones who 
always came to prayer-meeting when they could, 
because they loved it, and because the Lord had 
promised there to meet his children and bless 
them ; but they were not so very many. And so, 
for various reasons, these people had taken their 
bodies up fo the house of the Lord to spend a 
little time in communion with him ; and the Lord 
looked and saw the hearts all taken up with the 
cares of this world, and longed to bless them, but 
saw that some minds were far from his church 
and his worship. 

At the door, Father Fisk, who acted as sexton, 
handed Mr. Murray two notes. One was crum¬ 
pled, misspelled, and nearly illegible: — 

Dear Mr. Murray, — I am laid up with the rumatiz, 
and can’t com to the meetin’, but my heart is with you. 
May the Lord be there. Your humble servant, 

Susan Moker. 

The other was from Deacon Eldred, written in 
a trembling hand : — 

“ Dear Pastor, — My precious wife who has travelled 
beside me for so many years has passed on before. I trust 
I may have the prayers of God's people to-night in my deep 
sorrow.” 

Oh, that meeting! It was a revelation to some 
of the non-prayer-meeting goers. 

“ I never dreamed a prayer-meeting could be 


92 


CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR LEAVEN. 


so interesting! ” said Miss Effie gayly, as she laid 
her hand on young Will Kenton’s arm, on the way 
down the church steps after meeting. She had 
been prevailed upon to play the organ, and she 
did it well. Will Kenton’s rich tenor had swelled 
out with Mr. Hannibal Humphrey’s bass, and car¬ 
ried other voices in such a tide of song as aston¬ 
ished the old church walls. 

The minister’s few words seemed' to stir his 
audience as it had not been stirred in many a long 
year. A few repeated verses. One lady called 
for a favorite hymn. Mr. Worcester was moved 
to pray for Deacon Eldred in his great sorrow, 
and others followed. 

They went out from that hour of prayer feeling 
as if they had received a blessing, and wanted to 
come again. Some wondered why they had never 
gone before. 

Lily lingered in the parlor with her sister to 
talk over the meeting, and exult over the appear¬ 
ance of this one and that. 

But the minister, alone in the moonlighted 
study, knelt and thanked God, and took courage 
for the future of his prayer-meeting. 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE IN OUR 
SOCIETY. 



HE society of which I write was organized 


X some eight years ago in a brisk little village 
in the South. It sailed into existence with flying 
colors, having at the start forty active members 
and sixteen associate. All the necessary, and 
some unnecessary, committees were formed; they 
set to work with a right good will, and for a time 
all things looked prosperous. 

Now, there were in that society people of all 
sorts and conditions. There were people who were 
easily hurt; people who always wanted to manage; 
people who were never satisfied; people who feared 
the society was doing more harm than good by 
running itself this way or that; people who thought 
there were some in the society who did not belong 
there, and others who held the same opinion con¬ 
cerning them ; people young and people old, for 
the society was not limited in regard to age ; 
indeed, there were some older members who needed 
the society as much as did the younger ones. In 
short, the different types of humanity were all 
there, and each one with some crotchet of his 


93 



94 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


own; but there were so many different crotchets 
that the people who owned them had ceased to be 
called queer for them, and so it is merely about 
the three most peculiar members that I have to 
tell. They were the Pray-er, the Peacemaker, and 
the Man-who-was-willing-to-give-up. 

The Pray-er was a rather oldish young woman, 
with great thoughtful brown eyes, who wore a 
plain face and a plainer dress. Not that she was 
the only one in the society who prayed. By no 
means. They were good, earnest members, most 
of them, who meant to keep their pledge, and tried 
much of the time to do so ; but she was one who 
was wont to take her every wish or doubt to the 
feet of the Master, and ask his will concerning it. 
Her townspeople said Miss Fairfield was a little 
peculiar, but just as good as could be. All loved 
her; and it was a noticeable fact that whenever 
one was in serious doubt or dire perplexity he 
would go to the Pray-er for counsel, so that in the 
minds of some few she came to be also called a 
counsellor. 

The Peacemaker was the wife of the Man-who- 
was-willing-to-give-up. They were a young couple 
who had consecrated their all to the Master s use. 
“ I wonder, dear,” said the Peacemaker to her 
husband one day, when they had been having a 
troubled talk together concerning an irritation 
that had sprung up between certain touchy mem¬ 
bers of the society, who were by some voted 
“queer” and “cranky,” “ I wonder whether we 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


95 


are cranks too,” and she sighed a thoughtful, 
troubled little sigh. Then they both laughed. 

Now, about the time for the third semi-annual 
election of officers, there arose a dispute among 
the members of our society as to who should be 
greatest. The nominating committee had been 
carefully chosen by the retiring president with a 
view to wise arrangements of committees and 
officers. As the pastor of the church was one 
of the number, he felt that all would move on 
smoothly. But when the committee appeared, and 
announced as their candidate for president the 
Man-who-was-willing-to-give-up, there was deep 
silence, and an ominous scowl on the faces of 
several members ; for, strange to say, some few 
were jealous of this man. 

We accepted the report; of course we did : it 
was a way we had in our society, of always ac¬ 
cepting without a murmur whatever was done 
in our business meetings, and then proceeding to 
growl about it and stir up a fuss as soon as the 
meeting was concluded. This was no exception. 
The Man-whose-feelings-were-always-getting-hurt 
had expected, fully expected, to be made presi¬ 
dent himself, owing to his having been one of 
the first movers in the organization of the soci¬ 
ety. He had been looking for it each term, and it 
really seemed to him to be his turn in the natural 
order of things. His feelings, however, would 
not have been quite so badly hurt if he had 
been made vice-president, perhaps, or secretary, 


9 6 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


or treasurer, or even a chairman of one of the 
three principal committees; but he was merely 
a sub-member of the flower committee, — a com¬ 
mittee that seemed to him. to be a great nui¬ 
sance and of very little use in the world. He 
went home in ill-humor, and glowered and sulked 
around for a week, no one knowing what was the 
matter. At last he wrote a curt request for 
dismissal from the society, and handed it to the 
secretary, to be read at the next business meet¬ 
ing. The secretary was a novice, and did not 
know that the letter should have been handed 
to the lookout committee; but he whispered it 
about here and there that such a letter had been 
given him, and the story got afloat that the Man- 
whose-feelings-were-always-getting-hurt was hurt 
again, and there were various theories as to the 
cause. Some said he had better be let go, that 
such a man was more harm than good to them ; 
and the story grew, and came to the ears of the 
man in question, which made his feelings sorer 
than ever. 

Meanwhile, the prayer-meeting committee came 
together, and omitted to ask two young members 
to lead meetings ; whereupon said members con¬ 
cluded that they were not wanted, and one of 
them proceeded to stay away from the church, 
while the other took a very back seat, and kept 
his lips tightly closed, apparently forgetting that 
his pledge was made to the Lord, and not to his 
fellow-members. 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


97 


This committee also offended another member 
who, when asked to lead, requested to be given 
a consecration meeting; and upon being told that 
all such were already arranged for, declared he 
would lead none at all if he could not lead that. 
Whereupon the indignant member of the prayer¬ 
meeting committee who was talking with him, 
having already had her patience tried to its ut¬ 
most by two or three other members, told him 
in very plain language that one who was so proud 
as that was not fit to lead a consecration meet¬ 
ing, or any other. Which plain truth, it will be 
seen, did not effectually cure the pride of the 
young man, who joined the ranks of the pledge- 
breakers for some time thereafter, and kept his 
mouth sealed in meeting. 

The music committee, in their ardent desire 
to do their duty, not finding sufficient opportu¬ 
nity in the social gatherings held occasionally, 
decided to take in charge the music of the prayer- 
meetings, and better it if they could. They had 
heard that a young lady who had recently come 
among them was a fine performer; and it was 
thought that she would be willing to take charge 
of the organ and lead the singing if she were 
asked. The only question was how to get rid of 
the girl who had always held that place. They 
talked it over so much that it presently became 
town talk; and the Girl-who-had-always-played-the- 
organ heard of it, and settled the difficult ques¬ 
tion by herself remaining at home for several 


9 8 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


Sabbath evenings. It was even rumored that the 
Girl-who-was-willing-to-play-the-organ said that the 
Girl-who-had-always-played-the-organ dragged hor¬ 
ribly, and did not know a thing about the stops, 
and she was sure she could not sing at all with 
such playing. Upon hearing this from several 
intimate friends, with the varied interpretations 
that the individual intonations and gestures and 
the originality of these friends put upon the 
words, the Girl-who-had-always-played-the-organ 
spent a day or two in secret tears, then indig¬ 
nantly declined to have anything more to do 
with the organ or the choir or the church or the 
Young People’s Society of Christian Endeavor, 
and betook herself temporarily to another church. 
Of course the members took sides immediately, 
her friends declaring that it was a shame, and 
that they would not sing a word if the playing 
was done by the Girl-who-was-willing-to-play-the- 
organ. So in God’s house they would sit dumb, 
when the Father above was listening for his “lit¬ 
tle human praise, ” and missing it from those 
angry children of his. The enemies of the Girl- 
who-had-always-played-the-organ were glad, and 
immediately established the new organist, saying 
that they had always thought the old one dragged, 
and did not know how to play, anyway. 

Then the financial committee, which was a new 
institution with the incoming term of office, de¬ 
cided to put its finger into the pie. They held 
meeting after meeting, scribbling forms for a 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


99 


pledge-card, by which method they hoped to be 
able to roll the money into the treasury, which 
at the time of their coming into office contained 
the large sum of seventeen cents. At last they 
presented their plan to the society. 

Now, there was no doubt in the minds of any 
of us that the method of raising money by indi¬ 
vidual pledges was the correct way to do things ; 
but when the pledge-card suggested by the finan¬ 
cial committee was read, and it was found that 
only one-quarter of all money received was de¬ 
voted to benevolence by it, there began loud 
murmurs and long discussions, and the business 
meeting protracted itself far into the evening. 
Some thought the money should all be given to 
benevolence, while others thought it all belonged 
to the society for its own expenses. Of this num¬ 
ber were the entire social committee, who had 
in mind entertainments that would require elab¬ 
orate costumes. There was still a third class, — 
but very small, —who thought that a certain small 
portion of the money pledged should belong to the 
society for running expenses, while the remain¬ 
der should be set apart for benevolence. The de¬ 
bate was a hot one; and so many sharp criticisms 
were made upon the wording of the card, that the 
writer of it, after defending it in several very long 
speeches, became exceedingly angry, and resigned. 

Now, the president, the Man-who-was-willing-to- 
give-up, was opposed to the division of money 
that had been made in the pledge-cards. He 


100 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


thought more ought to be given to benevolence, 
and less to running expenses. He had even 
asked permission to speak upon the subject, and 
had made a concise little speech, which ought 
to have carried conviction to all hearts ; but some 
of his sentences had been almost too true for the 
peace of mind of those who were on the other 
side, and had cut sharply. When the president 
saw how matters stood, that the financial com¬ 
mittee had taken offence at what had been said, 
and that not only one member had resigned, but 
the other four were on the eve of doing the 
same thing, he arose, and proved his right to 
be called the Man-who-was-always-willing-to-give- 
up. 

“Dear friends,” he said,“ let us not be too hasty 
about this matter, and do in a heat that of which 
we shall repent. There is no need for this friend 
to resign his position, merely because the recom¬ 
mendation of his committee has been criticised 
somewhat. Perhaps, after all, his way is right. 
For my own part, if I have said anything that 
has seemed unlovely, I most sincerely ask par¬ 
don, and I hope that some compromise will be 
made, or that the plan proposed will be tried for 
a time at least, that we may see whether it will 
work. Let us remember that we are all children 
of the same King, and that he has commanded 
us to love one another. I am willing to give up 
my preference in the matter, should it seem best 
to the rest of the members.” 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


IOI 


That was the first drop of oil poured upon the 
troubled waters, which, nevertheless, continued to 
heave and roll as the days went by, and each of 
the various irritations in the society became more 
grievous, and were added to by other things, 
many of them small in themselves, but exceed¬ 
ingly large when considered in the light of the 
larger troubles to which they had attached them¬ 
selves. 

“Our president is peculiar,” said one member 
to another after that long business meeting, as 
he thoughtfully wended his way home. “ Who 
would have thought he would have so gracefully 
given up, after that sharp speech he made on 
the other side ? I declare, there was a good deal 
of force in what he said about giving the larger 
part of our money to the Lord. I don’t know 
but he was in the right after all ; but I never 
would have let people think I was willing to give 
up either way if it had been my case.” 

“Yes, he is rather queer about some things,” re¬ 
plied the other after a pause; “and so is his wife, 
for the matter of that. She seems to think of 
things that no one else does. Now, to-night she 
came to me, and asked me right out, pointblank, 
whether I wasn’t willing to forgive Matthews, and 
go and invite him to the social gathering that is 
to be held at my house this week ; and when I 
tried to tell her how meanly he had treated me, 
and how sneaking he had been about it all, she 
just said, ‘ Yes, I know he’s rather hard to get 


102 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


along with ; but we have to forgive, you know, 
and I suppose we all do things that other people 
don’t like. Jesus Christ died for him, you know ; 
and therefore if he can get along with him, we 
ought to be able to, with his help.’ ” 

“ H’m ! What did you say ? ” 

“ Well,—I—I—I didn’t say much of anything. 
The fact is, I don’t know but she’s more than half 
right about it. Anyway, I’d treat Matthews all 
right if he should come to the sociable, and that’s 
going a good way. He ought to be thankful for 
that. Of course I can’t go so far as to invite 
him ; but if he’s a mind to come, all right.” 

“ He won’t come unless you invite him.” 

“ Why not ? He’s been invited from the pul¬ 
pit. They invited every one.” 

“ But he knows how you feel toward him.” 

“ Well, if he’s such a goose as to stay away, I 
can’t help it.” 

Then these two members went thoughtfully on 
their way. 

The next day the Peacemaker started out on a 
self-appointed mission. She went to the store 
where Mr. Matthews was clerk, and, after buying 
some thread, said to him, as he was doing it up, 
“ By the way, Mr. Matthews, are you to be at the 
sociable on Friday evening ? ” 

“Why, I don’t know,” answered the young 
man. “ Where is it to be held ? ” 

“ At the Appletons’. Don’t you remember the 
notice ? ” 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


103 


“ Oh ! ” he said, his face suddenly darkening. 
“ No, I think not ; I do not think I can be spared 
from the store that evening.” 

“ Oh, that would be a pity ! I mean to ask Mr. 
Sheldon myself whether he cannot spare you. 
You see, I have a friend who is coming to spend 
a few days with me, and I want her to meet you. 
I know you will like her, and the only free even¬ 
ing is that of the sociable. I am sure you could 
come if you would try.” 

The young man appeared embarrassed between 
his desire to please the Peacemaker and meet 
her friend, and his intention not to go to the 
sociable. 

“ Well, the fact is,” he said at last, after a mo¬ 
ment’s hesitation, “ I don’t like to go to that 
house. You see, Appleton doesn’t like me very 
much, and he hasn’t treated me well for a long 
time. I’d like to meet your friend, but you see 
how it is.” 

The Peacemaker never told any one but her 
husband what was said during the long, earnest 
talk that followed, but there was a more sober 
look on young Matthews’s face, and he went to 
the sociable on Friday evening; moreover, young 
Appleton and his wife shook hands with him. 

It was that same week that the Pray-er, the 
Peacemaker, and the Man-who-was-willing-to-give- 
up had a little meeting all by themselves. It 
came about in the most natural way. The Pray-er 
called upon the Peacemaker, and, before she left, 


104 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


the Peacemaker’s husband came in. Talk drifted 
into society matters and the troubles and constant 
fallings out. The question came up, “ What can 
be done ? ” 

“ We must be ready to compromise with them, 
to surrender so much of our own way as we con¬ 
scientiously can, and then go ahead. That is all 
that I see can be done,” said the Man-who-was 
willing-to-give-up, passing his hand wearily over 
his eyes, and then looking in a perplexed way at 
the toe of his right boot, as though that ought to 
be able to help him out. 

“ Perhaps a little might be done by quietly 
bringing these people together, and leading them 
to look one upon the other’s side of the question. 
A little word sometimes will cool people down 
when it comes from an outsider who can have no 
possible bias either way,” suggested his wife, look¬ 
ing thoughtfully into the fire. 

“We must pray,” said Miss Fairfield; and the 
words came from her quiet lips with such tre¬ 
mendous force that both the Peacemaker and 
her husband felt the need of prayer as they had 
never felt it before, and both looked up with a 
sudden lighting of the eyes and softening of the 
faces. 

So they prayed. Yes, right there in the parlor, 
during an afternoon formal call; at least, that was 
what it started out to be, for the Pray-er had 
never been very well acquainted with the president 
and his wife before. Miss Fairfield’s card-case 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


105 


was laid aside upon the floor, and she forgot for 
the moment where she was, so intent was she 
upon the one thought, — their society and its im¬ 
mediate needs. 

“ Let us pray now,” had the president said. 
“ We ought to have remembered that before. 
Will you join with us right here ? There can be 
no better time.” And they had knelt and poured 
out their hearts in petition for a blessing upon the 
members of their society of Christian Endeavor. 

Yes, it was a peculiar thing to do. They were 
indeed a peculiar people ; and of them truly it 
might be said, “ For thou art an holy people unto 
the Lord thy God, and the Lord hath chosen thee 
to be a peculiar people unto himself.” 

The call lasted much longer than fashion re¬ 
quired, for when they arose from their knees they 
found that the Lord had put much into their 
hearts to say to one another. 

“ Miss Edgerton thinks,” said the president, 
“that the society is going to wreck and ruin 
because the members will not arise when they 
speak in the meetings. I dislike the idea of giv¬ 
ing up the informality that comes to a pleasant 
little meeting of the size of ours when we remain 
seated to speak ; but perhaps it would be as well to 
take the stumbling-block out of the way of some 
few, and for one or two of us to arise occasionally, 
letting it be felt that either way is the custom.” 

This was said when their hearts were softened 
by communion with their Saviour, and they felt 


io 6 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


willing to be all things to all men, even though 
they must sacrifice their own pet theories. 

So it was arranged that two or three other 
earnest members who were always ready to help 
should be taken into the secret, and that at the 
next business meeting the president should say 
a few words that were in his heart about how 
troubled he felt lest they were getting into a rut 
of formalities that would lead them even farther 
away from Christ than they had been before their 
society was organized, and about his wishing that 
the prospering of their work might not all be out¬ 
ward, but that they might have a work done in 
their own hearts, that they might make more of 
their consecration meetings, and reach out farther 
for those who were not in the society, and were 
not being influenced by it at all, closing with the 
request that they would speak their minds freely 
concerning the matter, and then kneel and recon¬ 
secrate themselves and their society. 

The days went by, and much praying was done 
by these three souls. 

“See here,” said the president, bringing his 
open Bible to his wife on the day before the next 
business meeting, “ I have found an encourage¬ 
ment from the Lord for us. Surely we may claim 
this for ourselves, and take courage,” and he held 
the book before her, and pointed to these words : 
“For thou art an holy people unto the Lord thy 
God : the Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be a 
special people unto himself, above all people that 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


107 


are upon the face of the earth. The Lord did not 
set his love upon you, nor choose you, because ye 
were more in number than any people ; for ye 
were the fewest of all people; but because the 
Lord loved you, and because he would keep the 
oath which he had sworn unto your fathers, hath 
the Lord brought you out with a mighty hand and 
redeemed you.” 

The evening of the meeting arrived, and the 
programme was carried out, at least so far as 
those who had planned beforehand could carry it. 
The president spoke, and the few who had agreed 
to do so seconded him. Not another member 
spoke, and all looked surprised; but they knelt to 
pray with sober faces, and more than one was seen 
wiping his eyes when they arose. There was not 
much merriment as they went out. Indeed, quite 
a number came to the president and to the others 
who had seconded him, and said that they fully 
agreed with them, but that they had not felt 
worthy to speak. They supposed that they ought 
always to feel ready to speak or pray; but the call 
had been so unexpected, and it had aroused them 
to think that perhaps God would call some day 
when they were not ready. 

That evening marked a new era. The conse¬ 
cration meetings, and indeed all other meetings, 
were different affairs after that from what they 
had been. There began gradually to be many 
short prayers, more short, earnest sentences 
spoken from the heart and from personal experi- 


io8 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


ence ; and when Bible verses were recited, instead 
of being rattled off, a perfect avalanche of them, 
as rapidly as they could come, they seemed to be 
spoken more thoughtfully, as if the speaker were 
feeling every word that was uttered. 

Then the Week of Prayer came on, and the 
Christian Endeavor Society was asked to take 
charge of part of the meetings ; and when the 
week was over we found that we could not close, 
for many were asking the way to be saved, and 
so the work continued. Old irritations somehow 
fell out. of notice. The Man-whose-feelings-were- 
always-getting-hurt forgave and forgot; the Girl- 
who-had-always-played-the-organ and the Girl-who- 
had-been-willing-to-play-it somehow became very 
good friends, and divided the labors of that instru¬ 
ment between them ; and the hurt member, who 
had asked to be dismissed, applied for readmis¬ 
sion, and publicly announced that he had been 
wrong in a good many things, and that he hoped 
the members would forgive him. Oh, it was in¬ 
deed a wonderful time! 

Professor Drummond says, — 

“ Christianity is a fine inoculation, a transfusion of healthy 
blood into an anaemic or poisoned soul. No fever can attack 
a perfectly sound body; no fever of unrest can disturb a soul 
which has breathed the air or learned the ways of Christ. 
. . . Christ’s yoke is simply his secret for the alleviation of 
human life, his prescription for the best and happiest method 
of living. . . Touchiness, in spite of its innocent name, is 
one of the gravest sources of restlessness in the world. 
Touchiness, when it becomes chronic, is a morbid condition 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


IO9 


of the inward disposition. It is self-love inflamed to the 
acute point, conceit with a hair-trigger. The cure is to shift 
the yoke to some other place, to let men and things touch us 
through some new, and perhaps as yet unused, part of our 
nature, to become meek and lowly in heart, while the old 
sensitiveness is becoming numb from want of use. It is the 
beautiful work of Christianity everywhere to adjust the bur¬ 
den of life to those who bear it, and them to it. It has a 
perfectly miraculous gift of healing.” 

Many of the members of our society had been 
afflicted for years with the disease of touchiness ; 
but now, coming into the atmosphere of Jesus 
Christ, and learning to wear his yoke and to be 
“meek and lowly in heart,” they found “rest unto 
their souls,” and began to love one another and 
to forget old strifes. 

But there came a sad time a little later. The 
Pray-er, the dear, loved soul who had helped us so 
many times, whose prayers and whose counsels we 
felt that we could not do without, lay down to die. 
Going from the heated church to her home in the 
cold air every evening had been too much for her 
delicate throat and lungs ; and she had taken a 
severe cold, which grew into something more 
serious, and would not be controlled. 

We gathered about her with tears, and knelt by 
her bedside while she uttered her last prayer for 
the society that she loved. 

“Dear Lord,” she prayed, “oh, that they may 
be one, even as thou, Father, and thy Son are 
one ! ” These were the last words that she spoke 
on earth. 


IIO 


SOME PECULIAR PEOPLE 


As we knelt there, it seemed as though the 
very presence of the great God were in the room; 
and all our petty quarrels, envyings, and self-loves 
looked so small, so mean, so low, that we would 
fain have hid our faces, so much did we despise 
ourselves, and we looked with longing and covet¬ 
ousness upon the peaceful face before us. Oh, 
if we could feel the peace that belonged to her 
whom we had once called “ strange ” and “a little 
peculiar ” ! She folded her quiet hands that had 
always been so willing to do for others, and like a 
tired child fell asleep to awake in heaven. On 
her brow was the seal of His ownership. She 
was His “peculiar treasure” now, taken home to 
dwell with Him. She had at last seen Him for 
whose glorious appearing she had been so long 
looking, who “ gave himself for us, that he might 
redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto him¬ 
self a peculiar people, zealous of good works.” 
She had been lent to us to help us for a little 
while, and now the Lord had taken her back. 
We could but feel, as we looked upon her dear 
face for the last time, and remembered the loving, 
earnest, sheltered life she had lived, that indeed 
the promise of old, concerning enemies and dan¬ 
gers, had been verified for her, — that “ fear and 
dread shall fall upon them ; by the greatness of 
thine arm they shall be as still as a stone; till thy 
people pass over, O Lord, till the people pass 
over, which thou hast purchased. Thou shalt 
bring them in, and plant them in the mountain 


IN OUR SOCIETY. 


I I I 


of thine inheritance, in the place, O Lord, which 
thou hast made for them to dwell in, in the sanc¬ 
tuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established.” 

She has passed over; but the Peacemaker and 
the Man-who-is-willing-to-give-up are not left to be 
the only peculiar people in that society. There 
are many Pray-ers, earnest ones too, and the whole 
society is struggling to belong to the “ peculiar 
people,” that we may show forth the praises of 
Him who has called us out of darkness into His 
marvellous light. 















t 

























•A 



































































HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE 
CONVENTION. 


CHAPTER I. 


PRAYING FOR A VISITOR. 

HERE goes that church-bell again! I de- 



X clare! I’m just about used up, listening to 
it to-day. I have a nervous headache coming 
on,” said Mrs. Satterlee, as she leaned forward 
to glance out of the parlor window. 

“ It is certainly very annoying,” assented Mrs. 
Ashton, another boarder in the same house. “ I 
sometimes wish that we were not located so near 
the church, except that the church lawn is very 
pretty to look out upon. It does very well week¬ 
days, but Sunday I’d almost be willing to give 
that up. How many services they do have nowa¬ 
days! I should think they would give up some of 
them this warm weather;” and the lady leaned 
languidly back, and opened a large fan. 

“ I should think so ! ” said the first speaker en¬ 
ergetically. “ They are making the Sabbath any¬ 
thing but a day of rest. I don’t believe it’s right. 



114 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

I believe everybody ought to have a chance to rest 
and sleep on Sunday; but those young people start 
up and have their meeting so early that all ar¬ 
rangements have to be changed in order that they 
may have their tea before they go. I was just in 
the sweetest sleep this afternoon when that tea- 
bell jingled. The young people seem to have 
gone wild over this society of theirs. I’m sure I 
don’t understand it. Tom goes too. I’m glad, 
of course, to have him take an interest in church¬ 
going ; still, I wish he would choose some other 
service. I’m afraid this is doing more harm than 
good. I tell him he just goes to have a good 
time. Poor fellow ! it has been so dull here this 
winter that he has to get fun somewhere. The 
gay young set seems to have quite subsided. 
They have had no parties this winter to speak of; 
everything has been this everlasting young peo¬ 
ple’s society. Why, even at their sociables they 
have all sorts ! I don’t like it. They mix all 
classes up too much.” 

“No,” murmured Mrs. Ashton sympathetically ; 
“ but I fancy it will be very different when Ade¬ 
laide returns. She is coming in a week now, 
and the young people follow her always. She has 
a magnetic way with her,” and the mother smiled 
a satisfied smile. 

The other lady brightened. 

“ Is Adelaide coming so soon ? Well, I am 
glad. She is such a leader among them, I hope 
there will be something in the town now besides 


PRAYING FOR A VISITOR. 


I 15 


prayer-meetings. Tom has got it into his head to 
go off with a lot of them to New York to a meet¬ 
ing of this society. I don’t approve of it at all. 
If it were just a few of the choice young people, I 
should be willing; but all sorts are going,—any¬ 
body in the church that wants to. There are 
some girls that I don’t want Tom with. I call 
them bold. Why, Mrs. Ashton, they actually get 
up and lead the meetings, some of them ! I say a 
girl that will do that has lost all self-respect, and 
I don’t want my son mingling with such people, 
even if they do belong to a church !” 

Mrs. Ashton agreed to this, and then said again 
she was sure Adelaide would create a different 
state of affairs. 

‘‘You know,” she went on, “that Adelaide has 
been in a whirl of gayety all winter, and I’m sure 
she never will stand it to come home and settle 
down to the humdrum way in which this town has 
been moving since that society began. I have 
written her about things, so she will come home 
with her head full of plans. Are you going out to 
church this evening ? It is nearly time to get 
ready. I promised Mr. Ashton I would go around 
to the hall with him. You know they give a sa¬ 
cred concert there, and take up a collection for 
the benefit of the Hunt family. We thought we 
ought to go and help the cause along.” 

“ No, I’m not going out. It is too warm to sit 
through a sermon to-night. I tried to make Tom 
think he could take me to the concert, but he says 


II6 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 


he has promised to go to his own church. Such 
nonsense! I don’t believe in people binding 
themselves in that way. I’m rather glad he didn’t 
want to go, however, as I’m too tired this evening 
to keep awake. I hope you’ll have a pleasant 
time.” 

And the two ladies parted. 

In the pretty little stone church opposite, the 
Christian Endeavor meeting was still going on. 
They were a young society, but thoroughly in 
earnest, having had the special blessing of a visit 
from the national secretary at their start, which 
had occurred five months before. Also, two young 
people, a brother and sister, had come among 
them recently, having moved from a large city 
church and society. These two, Harold and Enid 
Burton, had been delegates to the national con¬ 
vention held in Minneapolis ; therefore it was not 
strange that, as they had occasionally told an inci¬ 
dent or related a bit of experience belonging to 
that time, the rest of the society should be enthu¬ 
siastic on the subject of going to New York. En¬ 
thusiasm ran high as the time drew near. 

“ Adelaide Ashton is coming next week,” an¬ 
nounced one of the girls at the close of the meet¬ 
ing. “ She’ll be in time to go with us to New 
York. Isn’t it lovely? I was so afraid she would 
accept her uncle’s invitation for Bar Harbor; but 
she wrote me yesterday she couldn’t stay away 
any longer: she wanted to get back to us all.” 

“Will Adelaide go, Cora? You know she never 


PRAYING FOR A VISITOR. 117 

was interested in such things,” said another girl 
doubtfully. Adelaide had been their leader; would 
she also be willing to be led ? 

“Neither were we any of us until this winter,” 
responded the hopeful Cora. “ If she isn’t inter¬ 
ested, this will be the quickest way to get her into 
it. Enid says people can’t help getting enthusi¬ 
astic at the convention. “ We’ll just take her 
along with us, and you see if she doesn’t love the 
society as much as any of us when we come 
back.” 

“You’ll have to get her permission first,” said 
Tom Satterlee, who lingered on the outside of 
the group. He remembered some sharp sentences 
that Adelaide’s mother had spoken about the 
young people and their prayer-meetings. “ She’ll 
have to be very different from what she was 
when she went away if she doesn’t carry us off 
to something of another character, instead of 
being carried off to a religious meeting.” 

“ O Tom, don’t! ” said one of the more quiet¬ 
looking girls. “ Remember the verse you re¬ 
peated to-night : ‘ For I am persuaded that 

neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principal¬ 
ities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things 
to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other 
creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God.’ You haven’t forgotten that so 
soon, have you ? God can keep us all.” 

“And Tom,” put in Cora in her eager voice, 
“you forget, too, that the One who has made 


II8 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

us all over can make Adelaide over just as 
easily.” 

Then Enid’s sweet voice said, “ Why not all 
agree to pray for this one soul ? I don’t know 
her yet; but I’m interested in her, you have all 
spoken about her so often. Let us claim that 
promise: ‘ If two of you shall agree on earth as 
touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be 
done for them.’ There are eight of us here, 
counting my brother. Let us go into the Bible- 
class room now, just for a minute, and ask Jesus 
to do this for us. I think there is time before 
the last bell rings for service.” 

They had not expected this turn of affairs, 
and were not ready for it. Tom, at least, would 
have been glad to be out of it, for he had never 
prayed aloud in his life. But they followed 
Enid’s motion, and went to the little room close 
by, while she stepped to her brother’s side, and 
explained the matter to him in a few words. 

It was Harold Burton’s earnest voice that led 
in prayer, pleading for the salvation of this soul 
whom he had never met, yet in whom he was 
interested because his Elder Brother had died to 
save her. The petition went all around the little 
circle of eight. Tom had felt sure that no words 
would come to him. In the first place, it seemed 
so queer for him to be kneeling there with the 
others, when it was barely two weeks since he 
had learned to pray to God in the privacy of his 
own room. And then to be praying for Ade- 


PRAYING FOR A VISITOR. 119 

laide Ashton, his old schoolmate, the girl who 
had been able to lead him everywhere, and who 
had sometimes laughed at him, and called him 
wild ! But as the voices went on pleading the 
promises, some sense of the greatness of God’s 
power and willingness, and some idea of the 
worth of a soul, came to him, and he prayed, 
too, and then wondered at himself, as Enid, who 
who was next to him and last of the circle, took 
up his words ; and his heart echoed every sen¬ 
tence of her prayer. 

What would Mrs. Ashton have thought, as she 
sat in the concert, and complacently mused on 
the difference that her daughter’s home coming 
would make in the town, could she have known 
that eight of her daughter’s companions, led by 
the two young people from Chicago, were actu¬ 
ally praying for Adelaide ? What would Adelaide 
have felt, who was so sure she could lead them 
all whither she would, if she could have looked 
into that Bible-class room and heard the simple, 
earnest words spoken in her behalf? 

“ We must hasten,” said Enid, as they rose 
from their knees; “ the last bell has almost 

stopped tolling. I would not have Dr. Masters 
think we have slipped off home or gone on a 
walk, as some are getting into the habit of do¬ 
ing.” 

And with faces that looked as if they had had 
a sudden uplift, they all went quietly into the 
church. 


120 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 


CHAPTER II. 

“ NOBODY GOES TO NEW YORK IN JULY.” 

HEY began to talk about it the first evening 



X after Adelaide reached home. Mrs. Ash¬ 
ton had withdrawn to the other end of the long 
parlors to entertain callers of her own, so they 
had it all to themselves. Tom was there, and 
Cora, and several others who had been Adelaide’s 
intimate friends; but it happened that nearly all 
of them had been of that little company who had 
gathered in the Bible-class room to pray for her 
the week before. They thought of it now as they 
looked at her, this brilliant, beautiful girl, so full 
of the world ; and they trembled for the answer 
to their prayers. Tom thought of Enid’s prayer 
that night. Would she have prayed so trustingly 
if she had known Adelaide ? But the thought of 
that prayer strengthened Tom’s weak faith. 

They had rehearsed the winter’s doings; at 
least, Adelaide had done her part, while the rest 
listened, each mentally comparing their quiet, 
happy winter of church-work with the gay scene 
where their friend had passed the last few months. 

‘‘And now,” said Adelaide, as she finished the 
story of an interesting experience that she had 


“NOBODY GOES TO NEW YORK IN JULY.” 121 

passed through on the journey, “I’ve come home 
with ever so many new ideas and lovely plans. 
What have you all on hand right away ? ” 

She expected them to declare that they had 
nothing in the world to do, and were languishing 
for her to stir them up. The young people she 
had left in the autumn would have done so, and 
would have entered with vigor into whatever pro¬ 
ject she should suggest. But to her amazement 
she was met by a chorus of, “ Oh, the loveliest 
plan, Adelaide ! And we’ve been so afraid you 
would not get here in time ! ” 

“ Yes, Miss Ashton, you’ll have to put off all 
your plans till this is over, for the girls have to 
spend every spare minute getting their outfits 
ready,” put in Tom. 

This was astonishing, but it sounded interest¬ 
ing. Adelaide thought her mother must have 
been mistaken when she wrote how dull and 
stupid the young people had been all winter. 
Perhaps this was something they had planned 
especially in honor of her coming home. 

“ What is it ? Do tell me. When is it to be ? ” 
she questioned. 

“Next week.” 

“Why, next week is so short a time! Is it to 
be an elaborate affair? I’m afraid I won’t have 
much time to get ready.” 

“ Oh, yes, you will! ” laughed the girls. “ Listen ; 
you don’t know what it is yet.” 

“No ; but I should judge from what Tom says 


122 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 


that it is either a fancy-dress masquerade or a 
camping expedition.” 

After the laughter that followed this had some¬ 
what subsided, Cora essayed to explain. 

“ We are all going to New York,” she said. 

“To New York ! ” exclaimed Adelaide. “ What 
in the world are you going there for at this time 
of year? Winter is the time to take in New 
York. Why, you must all be crazy! Nobody 
goes to New York in July.” 

“You’re mistaken there, Adelaide,” said Tom 
as well as he could in the bubble of merriment. 
“We had a special message that twenty thou¬ 
sand of our friends are to be there at that time, 
and we are going to meet them.” 

“ Twenty thousand ! What do you mean ? ” 
exclaimed the astonished young woman. . “Tom,” 
severely, “ this is one of your absurd jokes, I am 
sure. I did not think you would begin the very 
first night.” 

“Indeqd it is not,” answered Tom soberly; 
“ I mean every word of it. Twenty thousand, 
and perhaps more, of our friends and brothers 
and sisters are going to New York on the seventh 
of July to meet us, and we expect to enjoy four 
of the best days we ever spent in our lives.” 

“Well, really,” said Adelaide, “I don’t under¬ 
stand how you are going to do it. Have you 
chartered a special car? Is it a great picnic? 
Why in the world do you select New York? It 
will be very hot there. What about chaperons ? ” 


“ NOBODY GOES TO NEW YORK IN JULY.” 123 

“Why, we are to have a whole train to our¬ 
selves, a special train. As for chaperons, I don’t 
believe one of us has thought of them ; but Mrs. 
Burton and Aunt Cornelia and Mrs. Dutton and 
ever so many other staid people are going along, 
besides some of the elders of the church, and I 
suppose you can use them for chaperons; though 
we haven’t considered them in that light before, 
for they have grown to be one with us so thor¬ 
oughly this winter that we forgot they were any 
older than the rest of us,” said Tom, smiling to 
see the astonished look deepen on Adelaide’s face. 
“As for why we go to New York, — why, the 
committee appointed for the purpose selected that 
place; and as for the heat, we are all going to 
take palm-leaf fans,” he finished as the rest of 
the group broke down laughing once more. 

“ Now, Tom, please be good, and explain to 
Adelaide,” put in Cora, lest the joke might be 
carried too far. “Tell her why we are going, 
and all about it.” 

“ We are going to attend the Eleventh Conven¬ 
tion of the Young People’s Society of Christian 
Endeavor, and we are all delegates ; and you must 
join us immediately, for really it is going to be 
the most delightful trip you ever heard of,” said 
Tom, trying to sober down. 

Then they all talked at once. It was a long 
time before they were able to make Adelaide 
understand. Up to that evening she had had 
but a vague idea of what the Christian Endeavor 


124 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

Society was; had, indeed, heard its name but a 
few times. Of its vast proportions, its solemn, 
binding pledge, and the interest and devotion 
with which all its adherents regarded it, she 
heard for the first time. It must be confessed 
that she began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. 
Here were all her friends talking eagerly about 
things of which she knew nothing, putting into 
their plans the same energy and life that they 
had heretofore put into whist parties and private 
theatricals. What did it all mean ? She was 
rather left out. She resolved at first to decline 
to join this absurd party who were rushing off to 
New York to go to meeting. Perhaps this was 
her opportunity to put things to rights in the 
town. There was no telling but she might be 
able to get up an opposition party, and break down 
the society. She would try it, and see what could 
be done. Therefore she did not enter into their 
plan for taking her to New York, but laughed it 
off, saying she was sure her mother would not 
hear of her leaving so soon. 

The next two or three days, however, showed 
her plainly that it was much too late for her to 
attempt to put a stop to this, and she began in 
spite of herself to become interested. It cer¬ 
tainly would be fun to go off on a journey to¬ 
gether in the way that they were planning. She 
would leave things open for a day or two yet. If 
she found it impossible to get her old friends to 
change their plans and take their excursion to 


“NOBODY GOES TO NEW YORK IN JULY.” 125 

the seashore instead, it might be as well for her 
to go and see what there was in this society to 
attract them all. 

Meantime, the quiet Sabbath came on. Ade¬ 
laide thought it too warm to attend church in the 
morning, and remained at home till toward even¬ 
ing, when, just as the bell was ringing for the 
Christian Endeavor service, the little pony and 
phaeton that she always had from the livery stable, 
drew up before the door, and she came out dressed 
in a cool white. Perhaps she lingered purposely 
in arranging her draperies on the seat and fasten¬ 
ing her gloves. Tom Satterlee came out of the 
door as she gathered up the reins. 

She bowed and smiled in a most bewitching 
manner, and called to him, “Wouldn’t you like 
to take a little drive with me to get cooled off 
after this fearfully warm day?” 

She felt sure that he would be glad to accept 
her invitation. In the old days it had been said 
that she could do what she pleased with Tom 
Satterlee; but to her mortification he only bowed 
gravely, and said, “ Thank you, it has been warm. 
Our Christian Endeavor meeting is at this hour. 
I was in hopes we should see you there,” and 
went on across the road. 

Adelaide felt too vexed to go on ; but she forced 
herself to take a short drive, pondering meanwhile 
on what a change had come over this young man. 
What could it be that attracted them all to the 
church ? She was sorry that she had not gone to 


126 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

see. But she decided during that short, solitary 
drive, to go to New York. Then she drove home 
as fast as the pony could carry her, and coaxed 
her father to go to evening service with her. 

“You are absurd, Adelaide!” said her mother 
the next morning, when that young woman an¬ 
nounced her intention of joining the excursion to 
New York. “I am surprised at you, and disap¬ 
pointed in you. Mrs. Satterlee has been look¬ 
ing to you to keep Tom at home, and here you 
are giving in the first thing. I should think you 
would have more spirit than that. You could 
lead them all if you chose.” 

‘‘Mamma, you’ve no kind of an idea how in¬ 
fatuated those girls and boys are. They act like 
a lot of children going on a Sunday-school picnic, 
instead of young men and women. I saw it was 
no use to try to stop it, and so I made up my 
mind that it was best to go along with them. I 
can at least cheer their drooping spirits when 
they are tired of meetings. Besides, they never 
will go all the time. I’m satisfied that one day 
will be enough for them, and after that we can go 
around and have a good time. I’m going to get 
Tom to take me to the theatre the second night; 
see if I don’t,” and she tossed her head in an im¬ 
perious, pretty little way that always conquered 
her mother. 

“Well, I can’t bear to have you go, Adelaide; 
it seems so common to go in that way, and to 
New York at this time of year. I do not like 


“NOBODY GOES TO NEW YORK IN JULY.” 1 27 

to have people think you are infatuated with this 
thing too.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t worry in the least about that. 
It seems to be quite the fashion, I assure you, 
though I can’t see how it came about; and I am 
thankful that all my New York friends will be out 
of town when we are there, so there won’t be any 
embarrassment on that account. Have you seen 
those Burtons, mamma, who have rented the Parke 
place ? They are quite ‘ tony ’ people. The girls 
had talked so much about that Enid that I was 
prepared to hate her; but they introduced me last 
evening, and I must say I liked her. She has a 
lovely face ; and her dress, though very simple 
and absurdly plain, somehow had a tremendous 
style about it. The brother is just as handsome 
as he can be. I was quite taken with him, though 
he seems just the least bit too grave for a young 
man. They say they are very rich. Indeed, 
mamma, I’ve set my heart on going now, and 
you need not say no.” 


,1 28 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 


CHAPTER III. 


ENDEAVOR ON THE CARS. 

LARGE company was gathered about the 



IT station early in the morning of the day on 
which they were to start. Those who were not 
going themselves came down to see the others off. 
The whole Christian Endeavor Society was there, 
and among them were faces Adelaide did not 
know. There was a hum and a buzz. “ Has 
Miss Porter come yet ? ” was a question that was 
asked several times before there came the answer 
of, “ Yes ; there she is.” 

“ Who, pray, is Miss Porter ? ” asked Adelaide 
at last. “ I have heard nothing but her name 
since I came down to the station.” 

“ Why, she is our delegate,” answered Enid, 
who stood near her. “ We are all delegates in a 
sense, you know ; but she is our special delegate, 
the one the society is sending. Almost every so¬ 
ciety sends at least one or two delegates. I wish 
we could have afforded two. There were some 
who ought to have gone.” 

“ But I do not remember any Miss Porter. Is 
she a newcomer here ? ” asked Adelaide again. 

“Oh, no; at least, I think not,” responded Enid. 


ENDEAVOR ON THE CARS. I 29 

“ You know I am new myself ; but they all speak 
as if she had been here for years. Here she 
comes now. Let me introduce Miss Ashton to 
you, Miss Porter,” she said, as a plain-faced girl in 
a neat gray gingham came toward them. 

Adelaide looked up in astonishment. Was it 
possible that she was being introduced to the girl 
who had for years made her wash-dresses and 
done plain sewing for her mother ? She favored 
the special delegate with a half-bow that was 
mostly stare, and turned coldly to Enid, while 
little Jennie Porter grew suddenly nervous, and 
almost thought this trip to New York was not so 
much to be desired as she had supposed. Tom 
Satterlee came up just then, however, and, bow¬ 
ing respectfully, addressed her as “ our honored 
delegate ; ” and some of the others gathered 
around, with their bright cordial words, so that 
the clouds lifted, and the clear sun shone once 
once more in Jane Porter’s world. 

Adelaide had received a shock. 

“ I do not understand,” she said to Enid. 
“Jane Porter never moved in our circle before.” 

“ Did she not ? ” asked Enid innocently. 
“ Well, isn’t it lovely, then, how this Christian 
Endeavor Society breaks down all barriers, and 
brings all of God’s people together ? I was so 
glad that Miss Porter could go; I think she will 
enjoy this trip amazingly. Doesn’t she look cool 
and nice in that pretty gingham ? I believe she 
is the most sensible one of our number.” 


130 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

Adelaide looked at Enid’s thin wash-silk travel¬ 
ling costume, so very plain, and yet so dainty, and 
wondered; and then looked down at her own elab¬ 
orately trimmed wool. This was a new world into 
which she was entering, and she was not so sure 
as Enid was that it was all lovely. However, she 
did not say so. 

There was not much time left for speculation. 
The train was coming. There was bustle and 
rush ; and then, after they were on board, and 
were waiting for the baggage to be put on, say¬ 
ing the last words to those left behind, through 
the open car-windows there came the sound of 
singing started by a group on the platform. It 
was soon caught up by the whole delegation : 
“ God be with you till we meet again.” 

The train started while they were still singing ; 
and amid the good-bys and the fluttering handker¬ 
chiefs floated back the words, — 

“When life’s perils thick confound you, 

Keep his arms unfailing round you.” 

And a few astonished brakemen, who were having 
their first experience in carrying a Christian En¬ 
deavor delegation to a national convention, won¬ 
dered with Adelaide what would come next. 

“ Harold,” said Enid in a low tone to her 
brother, when they were arranging themselves 
in the car; “ it won’t do to have those two to¬ 
gether during the journey,” and her eyes looked 
over to where Tom and Adelaide were about seat- 


ENDEAVOR ON THE CARS. I 3 I 

ing themselves together. “Tom is afraid of her 
influence over him, I know, from what he said 
after meeting the other night. She hasn’t the 
least bit of Christian Endeavor about her yet, 
I’m afraid, and is disposed to make fun of every¬ 
thing connected with it* I’m almost sorry she 
has come; for I am afraid she will do more harm 
than she will get good.” 

“Yes; I saw the way she treated Miss Porter. 
Abominable, wasn’t it ? But don’t say that, little 
sister; you know we have claimed a promise. 
You are right in regard to those two, however; 
they must be kept apart. Will you look out for 
Tom ? He likes you pretty well, and I know you 
have a knack of making it pleasant for the boys 
when you try. I’ll undertake to discover whether 
Miss Ashton and myself have a single interest in 
common, though I must say I don’t enjoy the 
prospect. Perhaps there is more to her than 
there looks to be.” 

And so it came about presently that Tom Sat- 
terlee, instead of spending his morning with 
Adelaide, making jokes, and hearing her sharp 
sarcasm flung at the poorer members of their 
company, and at “ fanatics ” — as she called them 
— in general, found himself beside Enid Burton, 
having a bright, pleasant talk, which presently 
turned, of itself it seemed, to subjects more 
serious, which had lately become dear to his 
heart. He liked Enid none the less because she 
was able and willing to talk about Jesus Christ 


132 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

as freely and happily as about worldly things. 
The morning’s conversation was always remem¬ 
bered as one of the most helpful of his whole 
life. 

Harold and Adelaide did not get on quite so 
well. The points of harmony between them were 
difficult to discover, it appeared. 

“ I shall try to find out of what sort that hand¬ 
some Mr. Burton is, the very first thing,” she had 
told her mother before she left home; and so she 
set about it. 

Harold called her attention to the scenery rush¬ 
ing by them so rapidly. There was a bird of rare 
coloring, then a flower by the wayside, or the 
sparkling of the dew in the fields, where the 
spiders had spread their delicate webs to bleach, 
perhaps. He quoted a lovely bit of a poem about 
the woods, as they passed swiftly through a cool, 
thick grove; but although she listened and ad¬ 
mired him for it, she felt out of her element. 
These were not things she had thought about or 
talked of much. She never saw anything in the 
trunk of a tree more than some ugly gray bark. 
She could not talk of the wonders of nature, 
because she knew nothing about them. He tried 
books ; but their reading had been in so entirely 
different lines that, with the exception of “ The 
Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine,” 
and one or two sparkling bits of humor that have 
become popular, they found no common ground 
in the field of literature. Harold paused a mo- 


ENDEAVOR ON THE CARS. 133 

ment to consider what to take up next, ana Ade¬ 
laide rose to the occasion. 

“ Speaking of Shakespeare, Mr. Burton, I sup¬ 
pose you have seen all his plays, have you not ? 
I have never had the opportunity of seeing Booth 
play them. I am just dying to see him. I hope 
we shall have an opportunity while we are in New 
York. Do you know what plays are to be there 
this week ? ” 

“ No, I do not,” answered young Burton. 

“I have not been to New York since I was 
a very small child, and I anticipate a good many 
things that one is not able to get in other places. 
Don’t you think they have very inferior amuse¬ 
ments in our town ? I suppose it has been as 
usual this winter. Have there been any plays 
worth anything ? ” 

“ I really cannot tell you, Miss Ashton ; I never 
attend the theatre,” said the young man, who, 
in spite of the poor success he was having, 
could not but laugh at the difference between 
himself and this young woman. Yet she was 
bright and intelligent. Why was it ? Would 
not this soul be worth winning for the Master? 
He would try ; and with a prayer for help he 
threw his whole heart into an effort to interest 
her. The first subject that came to his mind 
was athletics. Yes, to be sure, Miss Ashton 
was interested in college athletics and in tennis. 
What young woman is not pleased to hear an 
account of college days and contests ? She was 


134 H0W ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

a good tennis-player also, and could speak in sci¬ 
entific terms about the game, could even under¬ 
stand and appreciate when he told her of the 
old tennis-courts of other days, and the mathe¬ 
matical calculation required in playing the game 
as it was then played. He spoke, too, of the 
knights of the tennis-court, and of their oaths. 
Harold Burton sighed, and wished he could lay 
out a tennis-court there in the car; for then he 
might hope to interest this girl, and acquire an 
influence over her for higher things. 

But this was not a young man who liked to 
spend a whole morning in the company of an 
immortal soul, and never let it be known by word 
or action that he had thoughts for a life beyond 
this one. There were friends who said Harold 
Burton was too grave, and brought in religious 
subjects too much in his conversation, repelling 
people before he had gained an influence over 
them. It may be so, but then the Lord almost 
always brought success to this young man’s ef¬ 
forts. Perhaps the Holy Spirit taught him how 
to speak words that should not offend. 

He spoke of Christian Endeavor now, and little 
by little the conversation became more personal. 
He asked her why she was not an active member 
instead of an associate. 

“Oh, dear me!” she responded. “I’ve no in¬ 
terest in such things.” 

“You do not mean you have no interest in 
Jesus Christ?” he said. 


ENDEAVOR ON THE CARS. 


135 


Surely, this was a strange specimen of a young 
man ! Adelaide had never been so embarrassed 
before in her whole life. Finally she looked up, 
and answered daringly, “ I’m sure I don’t know. 
How should I be interested in some one who 
lives away off up in the sky somewhere ? I am 
not interested in far-away things.” 

“Oh, but Jesus Christ is not far away! He 
is very near his children all the time. He is 
very dear to me. I wish you knew him.” 

This seemed all so strange to Adelaide. What 
was she to say ? 

“Won’t you think about it, Miss Ashton?” 
went on the quiet, pleasant voice before she 
could frame a reply. “And may I add your 
name to the list of those I am praying for ? I 
should like to have you know Christ.” 

She murmured some sort of thanks, she hardly 
knew what. Then as quietly and easily as he 
had dropped into this subject, this strange young 
man glided into other and less embarrassing 
topics, talking in an animated, interesting way 
until she regained her self-possession, and to a 
certain degree her spirits. 

At last Adelaide thought it was time to change 
the order of the hour. 

“Wouldn’t you like to have a game?” said 
she. “ Your sister and Mr. Satterlee will join 
us, I am sure. Tom,” leaning across the aisle 
to speak to him, “won’t you and Miss Burton 
come over and have a game of whist with us ? 


I 36 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

I have my pack of cards with me ; and she pro¬ 
duced a pack of cards in a daintily engraved 
silver case. 

In spite of himself, as Harold Burton looked 
upon the cards there went over in his mind that 
Bible verse about the sons of God being met to¬ 
gether and Satan coming also. And he smiled to 
think how powerless those bits of pasteboard were 
to fight against Christ’s cause just then, even in 
the hands of that lovely girl. 


HER FIRST MEETING* 


137 


CHAPTER IV. 


HER FIRST MEETING. 



HERE was dismay and embarrassment in 


X Tom’s face ; but before he could reply, Enid 
leaned forward, and said in her cheery tone, 
“ Thank you, Miss Ashton, but neither my brother 
nor I play cards ; and, besides, we were just about 
to start some singing, and we need your help. 
I’ve heard a great deal about your voice. Here is 
a book. You won’t find the music difficult, even 
if you are not familiar with the selections. We 
are going to sing ‘Blessed Assurance.’ You must 
have heard it.” 

Almost before she knew it, Adelaide found a 
singing-book substituted for her cards, while the 
sweet song swelled all about her. She felt cha¬ 
grined, and shut her lips, firmly resolved not to 
sing a word; but the clear tenor voice by her side 
tempted her to join the rest. It struck her as a 
very queer thing to do, this singing on the cars ; 
but the whole expedition was queer. She heartily 
sympathized with the amazed looks of brakemen 
and conductors. 

There seemed to be no further opportunity for 
the silver card-case to reappear. Indeed, as the 


I 38 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

journey progressed, there were moments when 
Adelaide wished she might retire into obscurity 
with it, she felt so utterly out of harmony with 
her environment. 

A prayer-meeting on the cars ! It seemed 
irreverent when one thought of it; and yet the 
young woman could not but admit that there was 
the utmost reverence in the faces of all when, as 
darkness settled down upon the fast-moving land¬ 
scape, they gathered, as many as could, in one car 
for a half-hour’s service. Adelaide decided that 
Harold Burton would make a fine-looking minister 
if he would wear a gown as they did in many city 
churches. As for what he had said when he 
stood in the aisle near her, and spoke those few 
earnest, ringing sentences, which could be heard 
even above the rumble of the train, she straight¬ 
way tried to forget that, because it reminded her 
uncomfortably of his morning’s talk with her. 

Before they separated to their berths for the 
night, the train stopped a few moments at a large 
town, and the whole company broke into song. 
Cabmen and railroad men gathered about the 
platform, and with lifted hats and bowed heads 
acknowledged their respect for the Jesus Christ 
about whom the Endeavorers were singing. Ade¬ 
laide watched them curiously from her window ; 
and just as the train was in motion again, passing 
slowly by the crowds of men, one old bent man 
caught her eye, and bowing low said, “ God bless 
you for that song, miss! ” 


HER FIRST MEETING. 


139 


Adelaide was startled once more. She had not 
realized that her own voice was helping on the 
song. It was a new experience to be thanked by 
such a poor fellow-mortal; and yet it was not an 
unpleasant sensation. 

“ Was it for crimes that I have done 
He groaned upon the tree? ” 

they had sung. It was easy to feel that the old 
man’s crimes had been their theme, and yet she 
had a dim sense that she was not wholly guiltless. 
It was an uncomfortable feeling. She had always 
been right, in her own opinion. Was it possible 
that she had helped to preach a gospel of which 
she knew nothing? 

All too soon the journey ended ; for notwith¬ 
standing there had been various unexpected de¬ 
lays during the night, the time had seemed short. 

Adelaide drew a sigh of relief as they prepared 
to leave the cars for the ferry-boat. Civilization 
was reached at last, once more, and now surely 
eccentricities would be forgotten. The past few 
hours were well enough for a lark, but had been 
rather a strain upon her nerves. 

It appeared that the're was need for hurry, the 
train was so late, and therefore they agreed to 
register at their headquarters, and go at once to 
the opening meeting. 

Adelaide did not like the arrangement. She 
preferred to have her trunk, and a chance for rest, 
before making her dtbut in New York. She 


140 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

threw out various pointed hints to Tom Satter- 
lee, to the effect that she would like to be 
escorted to their stopping-place instead of to 
Madison Square; but Tom doggedly refused to 
take any hint. He felt out of patience to think 
that this girl had come when she did not care for 
the meetings. Adelaide meditated asking Harold 
Burton to take her to the hotel, but the eagerness 
he expressed in hoping they might get into the 
meeting made her afraid to attempt it. There 
was nothing for it but to rush with the rest. 

“It is absurd,” she murmured to Cora, when 
they finally jammed into a crowded car. “What 
are they in such a hurry about ? It is not quite 
time for the meeting to open, and it would not 
hurt them if they did miss a few words.” 

“ But they are afraid we cannot get in,” panted 
long-suffering Cora. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Adelaide sharply; “ they don’t 
know what they are talking about. That building 
is tremendous. I’ve read all about it. There 
won’t be half enough to fill it, you may depend on 
it; ” and she straightened up with a superior air. 

Cora looked at her half pityingly, and was 
silent. 

Arrived at Madison Square Garden, this confi¬ 
dent, eager party were confronted on every side 
by crowds of disappointed people, and by imper¬ 
turbable policemen. 

“It is full,” said the officers of the law. “Not 
another one can come in.” 


HER FIRST MEETING. 


141 

“ I don’t believe it,” said Adelaide, suddenly 
becoming anxious to get in. “They have no 
right to shut us out when we have come so 
far.” 

They tried all the doors with no better success, 
and Adelaide grumbled all the way. You would 
certainly have thought her main interest in life 
for the past few years had been to get into that 
meeting. They went to their hotel then, resolved 
to profit by experience, and be on time for the 
evening. 

Adelaide felt so out of patience with the au¬ 
thorities for not having made arrangements for 
them to get into the hall, that she was disposed 
to stay away altogether that evening, perhaps to 
make the management feel sorry; but she found 
that there was not one of their party willing to 
remain with her unless she was absolutely ill, 
and she would not stay alone in a New York 
hotel, so she put on her martyr air and went, 
mentally resolving that the next evening should 
find her on the way to a theatre instead of a 
meeting. 

Seated in the Garden at last, and with a breath¬ 
ing-space before the services opened, Adelaide had 
opportunity to look about her. What a sea of 
people in every direction, and more coming all 
the time! She began to have some dim concep¬ 
tion of what a mighty army of Christians this 
society could muster. It seemed to her as if 
the whole world was before her; and she had said 


142 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

there would be “nobody” in New York! But 
there was no time to reflect on it now. The 
great electric C. E. flashed out over the platform, 
bringing loud applause from the audience. It did 
not mean the same to this girl that it did to most 
of those gathered there. She had no precious 
thoughts in connection with it, of how we are 
“workers together with God,” “endeavoring” in¬ 
side of “Christ.” The monogram simply meant 
to her the name of the society; but it was as if 
the light of those letters had flashed the symbol 
out from God, acknowledging to the world the 
heavenly calling of this great company. And she 
was a part of it! A part, and yet not one of 
them ! She began to feel again that great un¬ 
easiness of mind which had troubled her twice 
before since she left home. Her soul, unused to 
thrilling over anything greater than a lovely dress, 
or fine music or acting, began to feel the great 
power of this vast assemblage, and swelled with 
new thoughts and feelings, until it seemed as if 
she must cry or faint, or do some silly, childish 
thing just to bring herself back to realities once 
more. The wonderful singing choked her. She 
could not join in it; for it seemed as if she were 
being borne upward by the music to meet eyes so 
holy that her being shrank, and longed to go 
away and hide. She sat and listened, but heard 
not much, her mind being too full to take in any 
more. 

When the president came forward, and was 


HER FIRST MEETING. 


143 


greeted by voice and hand and handkerchief, and 
all the other ways the audience could find to 
express their deep love and joy, Adelaide roused 
a little, and said, “ Who is he ? ” 

And Harold Burton, who sat next, said with 
shining eyes and glowing countenance, “ He is 
our dear president, who put us all to work in the 
first place.” 

How that audience cheered! How eagerly and 
freely they expressed their admiration and ap¬ 
proval ! If Mrs. Ashton had been there, she 
might have pronounced it “ out of place,” or 
“ quite rude and plebeian,” or some other con¬ 
ventional phrase. Her daughter was too much 
shaken to do so. She could only look and won¬ 
der and listen. The meeting was sufficiently ex¬ 
traordinary to all present; but to this girl, who had 
never even attended a Christian Endeavor prayer¬ 
meeting, it was so strange and wonderful that she 
was almost stunned by it. She did not quite re¬ 
cover her equilibrium until she and her friend 
Cora were in their room in the hotel. 

Enid and Miss Porter roomed next, and the 
communicating door between the two rooms stood 
open. The girls talked as they went about their 
preparations for the night. 

“ Will you go to the sunrise prayer-meeting, 
Adelaide ? ” questioned Cora. 

“No, I will not,” snapped Adelaide in a decided 
tone; “ and you’ll be a goose if you go. It is just 
dissipation to go so much. I think it is just as 


144 H0W ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

bad to dissipate in religion as anything else. 
The idea of going to a prayer-meeting at that 
unearthly hour. You’ll be down sick. I shouldn’t 
think of doing such a thing.” 

“Why, Adelaide, I have stayed up all night 
until nearly that hour many a time in my life, 
and so have you, and danced most of the time 
too. I don’t believe it will be any worse for me 
to get up a little earlier than usual and go to a 
quiet prayer-meeting.” 

Adelaide subsided soon, declaring that she did 
not wish to be disturbed in the morning; but 
somehow when the morning did come her eyes 
were as wide open as any one’s, and sleep seemed 
impossible. 

“O Miss Ashton, you are awake, aren’t you?” 
asked Enid Burton, tiptoeing softly in, and finding 
Adelaide raised half-way, and resting on one elbow; 
“do get up and go with us to the meeting. I’m 
sure you will enjoy it. You’ve plenty of time, for 
Harold just knocked at my door to waken me. 
Come, let me help you dress.” 

Something in Enid’s persuasive tone impelled 
Adelaide to comply without a word. It was very 
strange for her to do it, but she could not seem to 
help it. 

Cora stared, and Tom Satterlee drew a long, 
low whistle as Adelaide and Enid met them in 
the hall below a few minutes later; but they were 
not much more surprised than was Adelaide her¬ 
self, to think that she was actually going of her 


HER FIRST MEETING. 145 

own free will to a prayer-meeting before break¬ 
fast. 

“ This is all your doing. I congratulate you on 
your extraordinary success, Miss Burton,” whis¬ 
pered Tom to Enid. 

“Not a bit of it,” answered Enid quickly; “I 
have done nothing. Do you forget to whom we 
have been praying, and what promises we have 
pleaded ? ” 

“I am afraid I did,” answered Tom humbly, as 
they entered the hall together. 


I46 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE CONSECRATION MEETING. 

HE precious morning meeting, which was so 



X helpful to the delegates present, filled Ade¬ 
laide with a nameless feeling, half dread, half awe. 
By breakfast-time this had developed into a gen¬ 
uine fit of bad temper. She was out of sorts to 
think that she had been coaxed into going out so 
early, and had been compelled to entertain serious 
thoughts for a time. 

All the talk at the table was of the meetings 
and the programme that was before them. Ade¬ 
laide took little part in the conversation, and soon 
went to her room, declaring her intention to write 
to her mother. But somehow the sarcastic sen¬ 
tences that she had planned to write did not reel 
off so easily. A sudden dread of being left alone 
with the entire morning on her hands possessed 
her ; and, seizing her hat and gloves, she rushed 
out after the others, who had started to the morn¬ 
ing meeting; even the novels that she had brought 
along to while away the hours seemed distasteful 
to her. 

She was received without comment, despite the 
fact that she had said she could not think of at- 


THE CONSECRATION MEETING. 


147 


tending a meeting that was to be all reports ; that 
she hated business of any sort. The pastor’s hour 
was interesting. No one could help listening; and 
there was such an air of cordial freedom in the 
great meeting that one did not soon grow weary. 

When the one-minute reports from the States 
began, Adelaide looked about her company to see 
whether they were not restless, and ready to go 
on some pleasure excursion; but there was breath¬ 
less eagerness expressed in every face. So she 
settled back to endure, and presently became as 
absorbed as any one. What a tremendous enter¬ 
prise this was which filled the minds of all about 
her ! How they had grown ! And what was the 
secret of all their enthusiasm ? These were 
thoughts that surged through her brain as one 
report followed another. 

Alaska’s name was called. Adelaide looked 
about in astonishment. Could it be possible that 
there was a society in that far country ? Surely 
not ! What absurdity to think such a thing ! 
But even as she thought, a young Alaskan In¬ 
dian was introduced from the platform. 

“ Isn’t he cute ? ” she said to Cora, after an in¬ 
stant’s critical survey. And Cora began to won¬ 
der why she had ever admired this girl ; but Enid 
Burton was looking for answers to prayers, and 
was glad to see even this small amount of interest 
manifested, and she said in a low, eager tone, 
“ Yes, he is ; and oh, isn’t it wonderful ? ” 

Adelaide studied curiously for a moment the 


I 48 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

sweet, earnest face beside her, and then let her 
eyes and thoughts go back to the platform. The 
speeches were all so brief that one had scarcely 
time to recover from the astonishment and de¬ 
light over one report before another equally re¬ 
markable was in progress. A young lady from 
Spain came to the platform, and every head was 
stretched to see as they listened to the few words 
from old Spain. 

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Adelaide, as she 
stretched her neck with the rest. It was really 
becoming quite interesting. Indeed, she was not 
quite sure that the convention was so very plebe¬ 
ian, after all; for a young Englishman spoke, and 
a young man from Australia. This novice dele¬ 
gate began to feel quite as if her mind were being 
improved by seeing all the strangers from abroad. 
And the wonders multiplied. India was heard 
from, and China, and Africa, and even old Mex¬ 
ico. Then there came a perfect whirl, so that the 
audience ceased to be amazed at anything, even 
when a whole delegation arose, responding to 
something with cheers or songs or recitation in 
concert. 

Adelaide’s nerves were wrought up to such an 
extent by noon, that she declared that nothing 
would soothe them but a shopping excursion. 
She found another member of their party who 
was influenced by necessity rather than choice to 
accompany her, and meetings were put out of her 
mind for a time. All the afternoon, much to the 


THE CONSECRATION MEETING. I49 

annoyance of the other member of the expedition, 
the shopping was prolonged. Adelaide revelled 
in the sight of beautiful fabrics and exquisite 
colorings, while her companion would have been 
glad to hasten through her purchases and make 
an attempt to get into the afternoon meeting. 
Her hopes in that direction were vain, however, 
as she very soon perceived. Adelaide Ashton 
was in her element again, and meant to stay there 
as long as possible. She looked at everything she 
wanted — and did not want; and she bought a long 
pair of delicate evening gloves, a cobweb of a hand¬ 
kerchief at a fabulous price, and a five-pound box 
of Huyler's best,—this last with which to sweeten 
the members of her party toward their renegade 
delegate. Then they took an ice at a fashionable 
restaurant, and went back to their hotel. Her 
spirits had risen as the afternoon progressed. 
She felt in the sunniest mood possible, and passed 
her bonbons with a free hand and bewitching 
smiles. 

On the way home she had been forming a plan, 
which was to coax Tom Satterlee to take her to 
the theatre that evening. She went about the 
task with much tact, using all the old arts that 
had always worked with Tom before. Tom was 
almost caught, and forgot for a time how much 
he feared the influence of this girl. She did look 
charming to-night. 

But when at last he understood what she 
wanted, his face clouded over, and his heart gave 


150 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

a great bound of warning. It seemed ungentle- 
manly in him to say that he was unwilling to 
leave the meeting, and he was afraid that his new 
convictions on the subject of theatre-going would 
not stand the fire of this girl’s sarcasm. 

“But the meeting, Adelaide ; have you forgot¬ 
ten ? ” he ventured to ask. 

“ No, I have not,” said Adelaide petulantly. 
“ Haven’t you had meeting enough for one day ? 
I’m sure I’ve had enough to last for a year.” 

It certainly was trying to have Tom act so 
when she had thought him on the point of yield¬ 
ing. She added a little more persuasion. He 
was an old friend, and she felt at liberty to do 
so. 

Tom looked troubled. What if he should go 
for this once ? It would be a trial to miss the 
great meeting; but how was he to get out of it ? 
It seemed impossible to explain. He looked 
down ; but the gleam of reflected light from the 
letters of his gold badge seemed to try to attract 
his attention. A thrill of joy filled him as it had 
the evening before when the letters flashed out 
from the platform. He remembered that the 
Christ for whom he was endeavoring was always 
there ready to put his strong arms about his weak 
efforts, just as the “ C ” of the pin was surround¬ 
ing and upholding the “ E.” He looked up with 
firm determination. 

“Adelaide,” said he, — and she thought there 
was more nobleness in his face than she had ever 


THE CONSECRATION MEETING. 


51 


seen there before, — “ I’m sorry not to please 
you, but I cannot do this. You know, perhaps, 
that I have just given myself to Jesus Christ. I 
have promised to do as he would have me through¬ 
out my whole life, just so far as I know how. 
I’m not very wise about these things yet, and 
probably couldn’t answer your arguments ; but I 
feel sure of one thing, having thought it over 
carefully, and that is, that the One whom I have 
promised to serve would be better pleased if I did 
not attend the theatre ; and so I have decided not 
to go any more. But, Adelaide, go to the meet¬ 
ing with me. Come ! you will enjoy it, I know.” 

Adelaide had it in her heart to sneer at him, to 
try to laugh him out of this fanatical state of 
mind ; but something in his face kept her quiet. 
It was the same look that Enid wore all the time, 
the look that had shone in Harold Burton’s face 
when he spoke those few earnest sentences to her 
on the train. What was it that made them all so 
alike ? She looked at Tom for a moment with 
a new respect for him dawning in her heart. 

“What has got hold of you all since I went 
away ? I cannot understand it in the least,” she 
said in a puzzled tone quite different from her for¬ 
mer manner. 

“It is Jesus Christ, Adelaide; and oh! I wish 
he would take hold of you too,” said Tom with 
a sudden earnestness of desire that brought cour¬ 
age with it. 

The girl had no reply ready. She was nearer 


152 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

to crying than she could remember to have been 
since her childhood. She looked steadily out of 
the window for several minutes, until others came 
over to them and spoke to Tom. She slipped 
away then, and soon stood with the rest in the 
hall, ready for meeting. That was her final sur¬ 
render to the power of the meetings. She went 
to everything thereafter as a matter of course. 

Perhaps she did not enjoy that evening’s rare 
treat as did some others, for her mind was busy 
with a great problem ; though to a certain extent 
she did enjoy it, and told Tom condescendingly 
on the way home that it was almost as interesting 
as the theatre. But what had so changed Tom 
Satterlee ? Constantly during the evening Ade¬ 
laide asked herself this question ; and as often 
came Tom’s words, “It is Jesus Christ.” 

.“What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Jesus! 

What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Lord! ” 

sung the great audience; but this girl did not feel 
the power of his name. 

“ Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine,” 

rang out the song as the company surged out of 
the hall; and she looked in this face and that, and 
saw that there was a blessed assurance in each of 
those hearts. She saw the curious, and in some 
cases almost wistful, look in the faces of the stal¬ 
wart policemen who stood at the doors, looking 
and listening; and the thought came to her that 


THE CONSECRATION MEETING. 1 53 

she and those policemen were together outside 
this great throng. 

The great Saturday-morning missionary meeting 
opened a new world to many present; but to Ade¬ 
laide it was so new that she scarcely could breathe 
in its high, fine air. Why, what sort of talk was 
this of giving money and time to God, and speak¬ 
ing of it not only as a duty, but as a privilege ? 
When the missionaries and native Christians from 
the different countries spoke of the great compa¬ 
nies of people who had not heard of Jesus, she felt 
condemned that she was worse than they, for she 
had at least heard of Jesus. Yet she did not know 
him. She and the policemen and the heathen ! 
Fine company, truly, for Adelaide Ashton! 

They all visited the Eden Mus6e for an hour 
that afternoon, and looked at the marvellously 
lifelike waxwork. But not even this could draw 
Adelaide’s mind from the great subject that had 
taken possession of her; for the “ Chamber of 
Horrors ” was filled with reminders of death, and, 
turn which way she would, the thought was brought 
to her that she had made no preparation for the 
end of life. She came away tired and nervous. 

The Sabbath dawned, that wonderful Sabbath, 
when it seemed as if God was so near to New 
York. None of the delegates ever spent such a 
day, or ever expect to see another just like it. 

Adelaide went to church in the morning with 
the others. She had progressed so far that it did 
not seem queer and out of order when the waiting 


154 H0W ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

audience broke into song before the service. She 
was as willing to hurry as any one at noon, and 
sat through the long afternoon service without 
once suggesting that they should leave. Some¬ 
thing strange and new, which she did not un¬ 
derstand, had possession of her. Some of the 
addresses seemed burned into her very soul. 
Now they filled her with sorrow and shrinking, 
and now with great longing. 

At last came the crowning meeting of all,—the 
solemn consecration meeting. 

It was with difficulty that Harold Burton had 
succeeded in getting his party into the hall that 
night, for the throng gathered long before the 
hour, and filled the streets. 

“ And we must get in for the farewell meeting,” 
they said. “ There will be seven or eight simul¬ 
taneous meetings, and some must go to those ; but 
oh, do let us get into the hall if possible ! ” 

It seemed as if the hall had grown larger, and 
the police must have stretched the law a little, for 
the heads were certainly more numerous than be¬ 
fore ; and when the great throng sang, it was as 
one might think would sound the music of the 
hundred and forty and four thousand. 

“ But remember, this same Jesus 
In the clouds will come again,” 

sang the company. 

Harold Burton leaned toward Adelaide, and said 
in a low voice, “ What if he should come to-night, 


THE CONSECRATION MEETING. 1 55 

Miss Ashton, with us all assembled ? Wouldn’t it 
be wonderful ? ” Perhaps he forgot for the in¬ 
stant what sort of girl this was, or it may be that 
God’s Spirit was moving him to speak. 

“ Oh, don’t! ” said she, shivering, and pressing 
her hands over her eyes, trying to shut out the 
dreadful thought. 

All through that wonderful meeting she sat 
listening to the united voice of the delegations’ 
consecration words or songs, her heart swelling 
with strange longing to be one with them, to give 
herself to Christ as they were doing. 

She had taken her hat off with the other ladies 
in the audience when the request came from the 
leader; and she sat there in the most plebeian 
way, bare-headed, on a Sabbath evening, at a 
religious service in the city of New York. Her 
mother would have been shocked. 

At the close, when Dr. Clark called for all the 
active members of the Christian Endeavor Society 
to rise, in dismay Adelaide looked about upon this 
army of Christians, and felt herself alone. No 
one else was seated near her. Must she be left 
out ? She covered her face with her hand a mo¬ 
ment, it seemed so solemn and awful a time. It 
was with true joy that she heard that other ear¬ 
nest, pleading invitation given to all the rest to 
come to Jesus. It seemed all for her, and she felt 
that it came from the Master himself. Quietly, 
timidly, with downcast eyes, she stood beside Har¬ 
old and Enid Burton. But there was another 


156 HOW ADELAIDE WENT TO THE CONVENTION. 

pledge to be made. Would each one of that great 
company promise by the lifting of the hand to 
try to bring at least one soul to Christ during the 
year ? Would Adelaide ? Oh, could she ? That 
was her question. She would gladly do it; and 
up came her hand with all that forest of other 
hands, each meaning an immortal soul for Jesus. 

Adelaide had risen so quietly in her place, at a 
time when the others were intent upon their own 
pledges, that only Harold and Enid noticed that 
she was standing with them. Enid’s arm stole 
softly about her, and Harold bent low to murmur, 
“ What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Lord.” 

The little company of friends went out from 
that meeting with gladdened hearts, and with 
faith ashamed of its weakness, when they found 
what God had wrought among them. Jesus Christ 
was stronger than they trusted him to be. He 
was able even to lead Adelaide Ashton to him¬ 
self. 

And Adelaide has gone home to work for her 
one soul as she pledged; and she will still be the 
leader among her young friends, though in a dif¬ 
ferent way from the one that her mother planned. 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME FROM 
THE CONVENTION. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE MOTHER IN MONTREAL. 

HE winter had been a bright one for the 



X Christian Endeavor Society of Medway, all 
too short for the earnest work that had been 
crowded into its few months ; and now at last the 
summertime was coming again, and with it the 
longed-for convention in Montreal. They had 
talked of it all winter, the whole society, and 
especially those that had been to New York. 
It is true that the distance this year would be 
greater and the expense larger; but in spite of 
these drawbacks this society meant to have a 
larger delegation than ever. With the exception 
of one beloved member, who had left them to at¬ 
tend the great convention that shall never break 
up, the entire delegation of the year before was 
planning to go. Of the whole number the most 
eager and interested one in all the planning had 
been Adelaide Ashton. 


i57 



i5« 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


It was a daily marvel to some of her friends to 
watch this young Christian’s growth. Born into 
the kingdom of heaven at the last convention, her 
heart looked forward to the coming one with 
eagerness and longing. To be once more in that 
great company of young followers of her new 
Master, to join with them in singing and in 
prayer, and to feel herself one with them — she 
could scarcely wait for the time to come. All 
winter long she had been working with others to 
get together money that there might be many of 
their society sent; for she felt that to others also 
might the sweet message come in this way, just as 
it had come to her soul a year ago. Systemati¬ 
cally they had laid aside money for the purpose, 
— all they could spare without robbing the Lord’s 
treasury in other directions; and many friends 
had been coaxed to contribute to the good cause, 
until the fund had swelled and swelled, and they 
were able to send and pay the expenses of several 
delegates that would not otherwise have been able 
to go. Now at last the time was drawing near. 
Most of the arrangements had been made, and all 
was moving as it had been planned. 

A special meeting of the society had been 
called to settle some matters connected both with 
society interests and with the plans for the trip, 
and this meeting was just breaking up amid much 
eager talk, as usual. 

“ Oh, isn’t it grand, Adelaide ? ” exclaimed one 
of the younger girls. “ I’m really to go. I’ve 


THE MOTHER IN MONTREAL. 1 59 

wanted to go more than any other thing in life 
for this summer, and at last mamma has promised 
to let me give up my trip to the mountains and 
g°-” 

Adelaide smiled, and put her arm lovingly 
around the pretty girl, and said she was glad. 
Adelaide had grown to be a great favorite with 
the younger girls during the winter, and, indeed, 
with every one. Her mother said she was mak¬ 
ing herself too common, and she was disappointed 
in her daughter ; but other people said, “ What 
a change has come over Adelaide Ashton ! I 
wouldn’t know her for the same girl she was last 
year There is no sweeter character in the place 
now, and she used to be so haughty and exclusive.” 

Others crowded about, and began to ask ques¬ 
tions. 

“Adelaide, mamma wanted me to ask you what 
would be most suitable and comfortable to wear 
on the journey,” said one. 

The young woman of the year before would 
have advised a heavy, tailor-made travelling suit, 
or else a dainty wash-silk, with furbelows innumer¬ 
able ; but this girl only said, “Your gray ging¬ 
ham, Fannie, by all means. It will be cool, and 
keep clean till you get there, and I would not 
spoil a nice dress. Besides, that is very pretty. 
I’m going to wear a gingham myself.” 

Perhaps it was this sentence, together with the 
sweet, bright smile that accompanied it, that 
gave courage to the quiet, sad-faced girl on the 


i6o 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


outer edge of the group to come nearer and make 
a request that had been swelling in her heart dur¬ 
ing the evening. 

“Miss Ashton, may I speak with you just one 
moment before you go, when they are through 
with you ? ” she said. 

“Why, certainly,” said Adelaide with another 
smile. “Girls, will you excuse me? You don’t 
need me any longer, anyway. You know as well 
as I how to answer your own questions. Come 
over here, Miss Mould, and we shall not be in¬ 
terrupted,” and she led the way to a classroom 
near the door. 

“Are you not going with us to Montreal ? ” she 
asked, to begin the conversation, as the girl did 
not seem ready to speak. 

“ Oh, I’d give a thousand dollars to go, if I had 
it! ” exclaimed Lettie Mould, the tears suddenly 
springing to her eyes ; “ but I know it’s impossi¬ 
ble. I couldn’t afford it; and if I could, it’s the 
busy season at the workrooms. Why, I could 
hardly get off for the meeting to-night, for we 
have to sew almost every evening now; but I felt 
I must come just to ask this favor of some one. 
Of course I couldn’t get off at such a time if I 
could go; and anyway I couldn’t leave Annie, for 
she’s sick so much, and her work is so hard on 
her, I have to help her out very often ; and if any 
one went to see mother, it ought to be Annie, you 
know, because she’s sick, and she’s the youngest. 
But excuse me, Miss Ashton, you don’t know. 


THE MOTHER IN MONTREAL. 


6 


Our mother lives there in Montreal, and I was 
wanting to ask whether you would mind carrying 
a letter and a few little things to her. Of course 
we could send them by mail; but you know it 
does one so much good to hear by another’s lips 
about their dear ones; and I’ve been thinking, if it 
wouldn’t be too much trouble, if you could just go 
and see her, and tell her we’re well, and a little 
about us, it would be such a comfort to us and to 
her. You see, mother has been sick; and she 
can’t sell the house, and we’ve had bad luck try¬ 
ing to get money together to send up for her com¬ 
ing to us, as Annie’s been sick and needed so 
much medicine and doctors ; but we’re just break¬ 
ing our hearts for a sight of her, and it’s been 
nearly a year since we left ;” and the tears rolled 
down her thin, tired cheeks as she tried to sup¬ 
press a sob. 

Adelaide put her arms about the girl, trying to 
comfort her. She promised to go and see her 
mother, and to take all the messages they could 
send ; and she wished with all her heart that she 
had known this an hour before, so that she might 
have proposed Lettie Mould as the last delegate, 
in place of the one she had suggested. But the 
sexton was turning out the lights, and the young 
people at the door were calling loudly to her to 
come. There was no time for more talk now, so, 
with added promises and a tender, comforting 
kiss, Adelaide said good-night. 

But though there was much interesting talk on 


162 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

the way home, Adelaide’s mind was absorbed with 
perplexing thoughts. She could not get away 
from that girl’s sad face when she said, “ We’re 
just breaking our hearts for a sight of her.” 

Was there nothing she could do to brighten the 
burden of this other daughter of her King ? 

She thought of it long after reaching her room 
that night. Various plans began to form them¬ 
selves ; but they all seemed impractical, and had 
to be abandoned, until at last, just as she was 
closing her eyes with a sigh that there absolutely 
was no way in which she could help Lettie Mould 
to go to Montreal, a way opened up clearly before 
her, so startlingly simple, and yet involving such 
tremendous personal sacrifice, that she opened 
her eyes wide, and sat up to think it over. 


“ INASMUCH.” 


163 


CHAPTER II. 

“ INASMUCH.” 

“ T COULDN’T possibly do it,” she said to 
X herself as she stared at the moonlight. 
“ What would they all say ? Mamma, too, would 
think me dreadful, for she is quite in favor of my 
going this year. I’m afraid she would feel badly 
about it. I’ve promised to take care of Lucy 
Townsend, — though I know Cora could do that 
as well as I, — and I couldn’t give it up. Oh, 
I couldn’t do that! It wouldn’t be right for me 
to give up the convention ; I need it so much to 
help me for the next year. And I have felt that 
I was to meet Jesus Christ again almost face to 
face, as I did last year. I know he can meet me 
here just as well as in Montreal; but oh, he 
seemed so near in that great company ! Would 
he have me stay away ? ” 

She covered her face with her hands, and began 
to think it over, then suddenly slipped from the 
bed to her knees. If only all Christ’s children 
would go to him immediately with any perplex¬ 
ing question or trouble of conscience, there would 
not be so much time spent in worry and doubt 
as there now is. This young disciple had early 


164 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

learned the simple way of going straight to her 
Master in all times of doubt. Face to face with 
her Saviour, everything stood out clearly, and 
what had before seemed uncertain was now plain 
as day. There was no longer any doubt in her 
mind what he would have her do, and the only 
question left was whether she was willing to do 
it. 

Then there came to Adelaide an uplift, the 
echo of his own dear voice speaking sweet words 
to her, “ Inasmuch ... to one of the least of 
these, ” and “ unto me. ” The old words, only 
fuller, richer, deeper, and meaning more than 
those words had ever meant to her before. Was 
it a touch of his hand, with a blessing, that 
brought such a sense of his presence, and made 
her feel she would gladly, gladly, make this sacri¬ 
fice ? Sacrifice ? Why, it was no longer that! It 
was happiness to be able to give up something for 
his dear sake. 

When she rose from her knees, the moonlight 
in her room seemed to have grown brighter, and 
her heart felt lighter than it had even in view 
of the expected pleasure she had just determined 
to surrender. It was not that there was no longer 
any pleasure to her in the thought of the trip 
she had planned, or that there would not come 
to her moments of extreme pain and disappoint¬ 
ment over her loss of the good time ; but now 
she had been talking with Jesus, and her heart 
was lifted far above mere selfish pleasure. When 


“INASMUCH.” 165 

the regrets came, she would bear them; she 
would take them to her Comforter, and he would 
bear them for her; but now she was thinking 
of what he would have her do, and her thoughts 
grew quite eager in planning how all the stones 
should be rolled out of this new path that she 
had chosen to walk in. 

There was much thinking to be done imme¬ 
diately ; for if Lettie Mould was to go to the con¬ 
vention in her place, there was need of haste. 

Adelaide remembered that Lettie had said that 
there were reasons why she could not get away, 
even if she could afford to go. Her invalid sis¬ 
ter Annie had been the first. 

“Well,” said Adelaide meditatively, “that cer¬ 
tainly need not stand in the way. If I’m not 
able to take care of that girl, and help her with 
her work, and amuse her a little besides, for a 
week, I’m not worth much. I’ve nothing else in 
the world to do ; at least, nothing else I ought 
to do. It’s in a perfectly respectable neighbor¬ 
hood, and the house she boards in is clean and 
neat ; so mamma cannot object, though I’m very 
sure she will try to persuade me not to do it,” 
and she sighed, and looked wistfully out into 
the moonlight again. It was a sore trial to this 
young Christian that her mother, who had been 
so much of a companion to her all her life, did 
not sympathize with her in this great new joy. 

“ Let me see,” said Adelaide, going back to 
her planning, “ Lettie said something about the 


1 66 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

busy season, and not being able to get away from 
the workroom. I think I could manage that, 
however. I’ll go to see Mrs. Harbison the first 
thing in the morning, and arrange it. Nellie 
Forrester is out of work for a while now on 
account of Madame Lee’s illness, and I shouldn’t 
wonder a bit if she would be only too glad to 
go in and sew in Lettie’s place while she’s gone. 
She was feeling quite badly at losing so much 
time the other day when I talked with her. 
And I’ll tell Mrs. Harbison, if she’s rushed just 
now, that she can let my dresses wait a while. 
I shall not need much, anyway, if I’m to stay a 
home. By the way, there’s the new gingham I 
had made for travelling; it was nearly done when 
I was there yesterday. Mamma really hates 
it, though I don’t see why, as it’s very neat 
and pretty; but there’s no need for me to dress 
in something mamma dislikes, and I wouldn’t 
have bought it except for the sake of making 
those Corning girls feel that their brown sateens 
would be plenty good enough to wear. I believe 
I’ll tell Lettie that if she’s to go to the con¬ 
vention in my place, she must just take the dress, 
and wear it for me; for that is its legitimate 
purpose, and it will be disappointed if it has to 
stay at home; ” and Adelaide laughed softly to 
herself as she laid her head once more on the 
pillow and tried to compose herself to sleep. 
And her friends, if they could have known that 
this strange girl was actually gleeful over the 


INASMUCH. 




»> 


167 


surrender of the thing she wanted more than all 
others, would have wondered at her. 

It was very hard work to stop thinking that 
night and go to sleep; but the peace in her heart 
quieted her, and after a little she was asleep. 

There was too much excitement about the carry¬ 
ing out of the new plans the next morning for 
Adelaide to have much time to think of her own 
lost pleasure. She had resolved to say nothing 
to her friends about the matter until she had 
perfected her arrangements and was sure that 
they would not fail. As she was a young woman 
accustomed to doing exactly as she pleased with 
her own, she anticipated no opposition further 
than much talk and persuasion, against which she 
felt that she would be able to stand, though she 
dreaded the ordeal, and meant to put it off as 
long as possible. 

Immediately after breakfast the pony and 
phaeton came to the door, and Adelaide started 
out to prepare the way for the carrying out of 
her sacrifice. She drove first to the dressmaker’s. 

‘‘She will be the very hardest stone of all to 
roll away,” meditated Adelaide, as she touched 
the pony with the tip of the whip to hurry him 
up, “unless — it may be I shall have trouble 
with Lettie herself.” 

Mrs. Harbison came into her stuffy little parlor 
with a flustered face. She supposed that Miss 
Ashton had come to hurry up her work. It was 
therefore with surprise and relief that she listened 


168 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

to Adelaide’s proposition. It had been some 
weeks since Mrs. Harbison had found time for 
a thought save about ruffles and buttons and 
plaits; but she proved that she had a human 
heart when she heard of Lettie’s mother and her 
desire to see her; at least, she allowed herself 
to feel sympathy for the girl when she heard that 
Adelaide could suggest a substitute for her in 
the workroom. 

“Very well; I will see Miss Forrester immedi¬ 
ately,” said Adelaide, as she took her departure, 
“and let you know in a short time whether she 
can come. And you need not trouble to hurry 
my dresses ; for I have changed my plans some¬ 
what, and think I shall not need them quite so 
soon.” 

“Now,” said Adelaide, as she took up the reins 
once more. “I must pray all the way to Nellie 
Forrester’s that she may be able to take this 
place; ” and all the short drive was filled with 
earnest petition from this young, loving heart. 


A HAPPY MORNING’S WORK. 


169 


CHAPTER III. 

A HAPPY MORNING’S WORK. 

N ellie Forrester stood by the open 

window, disconsolately drumming on the 
sill, when the pony stopped before the door of 
her boarding-house, and Adelaide stepped out of 
the phaeton and rung the bell. Nellie Forrester’s 
sky just now was overcast by some very black 
clouds, to which she could see no silver lining. 
She was out of work, and hopelessly so. Her 
former employer had been taken suddenly ill, and 
all her work had been sent home unfinished. Be¬ 
sides, her work had had none of the best reputa¬ 
tion in her well days ; and, busy season though 
it was, her girls had not been in demand. Nellie 
was a good, faithful worker; but she had been in 
the place only a short time, and had therefore tried 
in vain thus far to secure a situation. Her scanty 
store of dollars was fast diminishing, and she real¬ 
ized fully that even this miserable boarding-house 
would soon be beyond her means. 

“ If I could only get a chance to try some¬ 
where,” she said despairingly, “ I’m sure I could 
show them good work”— Then she glanced into 
the street, and saw the pony. It never occurred 


170 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

to her that Adelaide’s visit could have anything 
to do with her. Miss Ashton was a far-distant 
star, whom she had met at a sociable of the 
Christian Endeavor Society which she had joined 
on coming to the city. She had talked with Miss 
Ashton a few minutes, and thought her pleasant, 
and not nearly so haughty as her clothes looked. 
She admired her from afar; but this morning 
things looked too dark for her even to care for 
the bow of greeting that she usually tried to get. 
So she stepped back into the shadow of the cur¬ 
tain, wondering a little bitterly what the girl with 
the pony would do if she had to face the world 
and fight for a living. It was not until the parlor 
door swung open, and the voice of the slovenly 
maid said, “ She’s in here,” that it entered her 
mind that the call might be for her. 

Half an hour afterward Adelaide again stepped 
into her carriage and started the lazy pony from 
his dreams, while Nellie Forrester stood smiling 
at her from the door. There was a great silver 
rift in the black cloud now, and the bright morn¬ 
ing sun was beginning to shine through, and it 
promised a glorious day. 

“ I declare, how little it takes to make people 
happy!” said Adelaide to herself; “and how 
much there is to make them miserable ! I wonder 
whether there are any other unhappy members 
of our society. I mean to try to find out, and 
see whether I can help to make them happy. 
I’ll take that for my work this summer. Now 


A HAPPY MORNING’S WORK. 17I 

for poor little Annie Mould. I’m afraid it will 
bring consternation to her to think of her sister’s 
going away. I wish she might go too. But it 
would be too hard a trip for so short a time. 
My! I wish I had a great deal of money to do 
some things I can think of.” Then the pony was 
stopped once more. 

Annie Mould sat by the window making button¬ 
holes in some very coarse cloth. Adelaide felt, 
as she entered the dark, hot little room, that 
those buttonholes would have been so much more 
bearable if they had been on pretty material. 
Annie Mould had a pain in her side, which 
showed in the sharp pucker on her forehead; 
for though it was still early morning, she had 
been at her work for several hours, to make up 
for lost time the day before, when the pain had 
forced her to succumb entirely. Adelaide men¬ 
tally resolved that this state of things should 
cease just as soon as she could manage it; and 
after a minute or two more of conversation about 
nothing in particular, she suddenly resolved that 
it should cease immediately. 

“How many more of those have you to do?” 
she said, dashing into her subject. 

Annie nodded wearily toward a great pile of 
similar ugly garments. 

“ All those, and they’re to be called for at six 
this evening. I’m sure I don’t know whether 
I can do it or not. Lettie can’t get home to 
help me to-night. She has to work all the even- 


172 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


ing. I was so bad yesterday I couldn’t take a 
stitch.” 

Adelaide arose with decision, and began to 
bundle the things together, taking the work from 
the astonished girl’s fingers, and talking all the 
while, so that Annie could not object. 

“ I know where I can get these done, and I 
want you to come with me and take a little ride. 
I have something very important to talk with you 
about, and I can’t talk here with you working so 
hard. Don’t say anything now ; but just be good, 
and do as you’re told.” Then followed a burst 
of the bright, witty remarks such as this girl 
knew how to make, keeping the tired invalid in 
a maze of laughter till the tears actually rolled 
down her cheeks. Annie made some feeble pro¬ 
tests, but at last surrendered herself to the de¬ 
lights of the occasion. To have the dreadful 
work taken from her aching fingers, and actually 
to be going on a ride, was a wonderful experi¬ 
ence. Adelaide soon had her seated in the car¬ 
riage, the great bundle of work at her feet, and 
the pony travelling as fast as he could amble back 
to Nellie Forrester’s boarding-place. That young 
woman, having caught a glimpse of the carriage 
at the door, came into the hall, so that Adelaide 
was not hindered in her errand. 

“Nellie, can you make nice buttonholes?” she 
questioned breathlessly. 

“Beautiful ones,” responded Nellie, with spark¬ 
ling eyes. “ I served a two years’ apprenticeship, 


A HAPPY MORNING’S WORK. 173 

doing that and nothing else. I can make them 
fast too.” 

“ Good ! ” exclaimed Adelaide. " I knew God 
had put the thought of coming to you into my 
heart. I want to get these all done by five 
o’clock to-night, when I will call for them. I’ll 
pay you whatever you say. Do you think you 
have time to finish them ? ” and she looked anx¬ 
iously at the other girl while she opened the 
bundle and took an inventory of its contents. 
Nellie assured her that she would be able to 
finish all by five o’clock, and Adelaide ran back 
to the carriage delighted. 

“Now, Annie,” she said, “the buttonholes are 
an assured fact, and I’m going to take you a 
little drive into the country, to bring some color 
into those white cheeks.” 

When the phaeton was trundling smoothly 
along some of the more quiet, shaded streets, 
Adelaide cautiously unfolded her plan, finding in 
the unselfish sister a grateful and delighted ally 
to her plotting. In spite of the shortness of that 
drive, it was nearly half-past eleven when they 
returned, and Annie was established on the bed 
and made comfortable to take a nap. 

Adelaide paused on the curbstone to take breath 
and look at her watch. Would she have time to 
see Lettie and finish her work before lunch? Yes, 
if all went well; but there was no time to lose. 

Lettie came from her work quite flurried when 
she heard that Miss Ashton was waiting to see her. 


1/4 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

That interview was to Adelaide at once the 
most remarkable, the most trying, and the hap¬ 
piest of the four. 

Lettie could not understand at first, —was dull 
of comprehension even to stupidity for a while; 
then, as it began to dawn upon her, she would 
have none of it, would not allow the sacrifice; 
and at last, when the whole plan, with all the 
difficulties taken out of the way, and everything 
made plain and easy for her bewildered, happy 
feet, finally burst upon her, she broke down ut¬ 
terly, and cried. 

“You are like Jesus Christ, Miss Ashton. No 
one but himself, or one who had his Spirit, would 
think of doing a wonderful thing like that. I 
had begun to think he had forgotten Annie and 
me, but now I am ashamed.” 

Adelaide felt that she had rich reward already 
for all her sacrifice. She sent Lettie in a flutter 
of happy tears over the gift of the pretty gingham 
dress back to the workroom. 

“We are just sisters, you know, children of 
the same Father,” she had said; “and you need 
not take it as a gift. Between sisters things are 
not counted so. I shall not need the dress now; 
and if you can make use of it, it belongs to you. 
Our earthly possessions are all gifts of our Father 
anyway, and I think he would prefer that you 
should have that. You are nearly my size, and 
can easily make it fit you.” 

A few more words as to final arrangements 


A HAPPY MORNING’S WORK. 1/5 

Adelaide had with Mrs. Harbison, and then went 
home hungry and weary, having deliberately put 
away from herself all possibility of the trip to 
Montreal, but yet happy in spite of it. 

In the joy of giving others pleasure she for¬ 
got utterly for the time her own great sacrifice. 
There might come a time for her to feel her own 
disappointment, but it was not now. 


176 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“LET NOT THY LEFT HAND KNOW.” 

I T soon became necessary for Adelaide to tell 
her mother that she had decided not to go to 
Montreal. 

“ Not going ! ” exclaimed her mother. “ Why, 
Adelaide, what in the world do you mean ? Have 
the rest given it up ? ” 

“ No, mamma.” 

“Then, what is the explanation of this strange 
freak ? Don’t you like the arrangements ? Are 
you tired of this constant meeting-going ? Per¬ 
haps you are coming back to your senses again, 
and will be willing to go to Bar Harbor now, 
though I must confess I don’t disapprove of this 
expedition nearly so much as I did of the one 
last year. It sounds much better to go to Mon¬ 
treal on a summer trip than to New York City. 
Besides, the Burtons are going. They will give 
tone to the party. The Burtons are still planning 
to go, are they not?” 

“Yes, mamma,” Adelaide answered, lowering 
her eyes, and her cheeks reddening a trifle. It 
was no small part of her sacrifice that she was not 
to enjoy the pleasure of carrying out plans made 


177 


“LET NOT THY LEFT HAND KNOW.” 

by herself and Harold and Enid Burton. “And 
I’m not tired of the meetings, either,” she added. 
“ You must never think so. I love the work more 
than I did when I came home from New York 
a year ago. It is for that reason I have given up 
the pleasure of going. There is some one else 
who needs to go this time more than I.” 

“ Adelaide! This is absurdity of fanaticism. 
I’m sure I never supposed my daughter would 
turn out one of that detestable class. Don’t you 
see how ridiculous you are ? You can’t go around 
the world finding some one who would like your 
things, and giving them all away. The world is 
full of people who would doubtless like to take a 
vacation. You can’t spread your vacation around 
to humanity in this silly fashion.” 

“ But listen, mamma, let me tell you this girl’s 
story.” 

“ No, I don’t care to hear the story,” replied her 
mother coldly. “ Anybody can get up a senti¬ 
mental story. You are entirely too soft-hearted. 
No story can justify you in this absurd perform¬ 
ance. Of course you are old enough to do as you 
please with your own ; but I warn you that if you 
keep on in the way you have begun, you will ruin 
all your prospects in life.” 

“ O mamma ! you forget that life lasts forever; 
and if I am pleasing Jesus Christ, I can’t be ruin¬ 
ing my prospects for life in heaven.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said her mother sharply. “ One 
has to look out for this life a little also, you’ll 


178 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

find. By and by, when your young life is gone, 
and you get over your infatuation with this so¬ 
ciety, you will blame me for not interfering now. 
Besides, it sounds very irreverent to me to hear 
you speak as you did just now. This is what I 
have been afraid of with these meetings. One 
grows entirely too familiar with sacred things, and 
gets to speaking of them in ordinary, careless 
conversation. Now do be persuaded, my dear, 
and give up this queer notion.” 

Then Mrs. Ashton launched ipto a most elo¬ 
quent appeal, to which her daughter listened 
quietly, patiently, only shaking her head at the 
close, however, and saying a little sadly, “ I’m 
sorry not to please you, mamma, but I feel sure 
I’m doing right to give this up. Please don’t 
urge me any more.” 

Mrs. Ashton retired to her room soon after to 
think the matter over. If Adelaide really would 
not go, perhaps it might be made to appear to her 
fashionable friends that she had given up her 
interest in the expedition. Perhaps the girl might 
be won back to her former gay life. The Bur¬ 
tons’ going was a bitter pill for her to swallow, 
however. They were very rich and cultured peo¬ 
ple, and a wedding with Harold Burton and Ade¬ 
laide as the central figures was a pleasant thing to 
contemplate. There was one, just one, alleviating 
thought. The Burtons were such grave, religious, 
almost fanatical, people, that Adelaide’s sacrifice 
might go a great way toward winning favor for 


“let not thy left hand know.” 179 

her in the young man’s eyes. This mother would 
take care that he heard of the matter, at least. 

One more attempt she made to change Ade¬ 
laide’s purpose, allowing Lettie Mould’s story to 
be told in full this time, and rather drawing out 
her daughter’s intentions with regard to the care 
of the sick sister. Adelaide was still firm in her 
resolve. It was of no use to reason ; therefore, if 
the mother was to make this matter appear well 
to her dear world, she must be possessed of all 
the facts. Her. attitude was so changed that 
Adelaide was puzzled over the matter, and begged 
her mother not to let any of her young friends 
know of the matter, as they would trouble her 
with questions and regrets, and she wished to 
keep the matter quiet as long as possible. 

Mrs. Ashton pondered the matter, a satisfied 
smile growing on her face as a plan formulated 
itself in her mind. She would have made Ade¬ 
laide a present of the money to go if she could 
have afforded it ; but it would take quite a little 
sum to replace the trip Adelaide was so ruth¬ 
lessly giving away, and there were numerous 
troublesome expenses that must be met this 
month. She could not do it without borrowing, 
and that she would not do. Adelaide, she knew, 
had put every extra cent of her own money into 
the fund for sending delegates. Now, how to 
make this matter appear in the right light, that 
Adelaide’s sacrifice might shine out without hav¬ 
ing people wonder why Adelaide could not go, 


ISO WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

and send Lettie Mould also if she wanted to, was 
Mrs. Ashton’s task. She did not wish the Bur¬ 
tons to feel that she was not well enough off to 
give her daughter any number of trips to Mon¬ 
treal. The thought of poor Annie brought a 
smile to her face. What could be more beautiful, 
praiseworthy, and sacrificing than for Adelaide to 
stay to take care of Annie Mould ? 

Mrs. Ashton dressed herself with care to pay a 
call that she owed to Mrs. Burton. Seated in the 
Burtons’ cool, dark parlor, it afforded her no little 
satisfaction to discover between the portieres at 
the farther end of the long library, beside the 
massive oak desk, a pair of russet-clad feet, and 
part of a coat sleeve and hand, which undoubtedly 
belonged to Harold, who must be sitting there 
writing. Mrs. Ashton’s voice was clear and pene¬ 
trating. She knew how to make her words heard 
distinctly in an adjoining room on occasion, with¬ 
out seeming to endeavor to do so. It did not 
require much management to bring the conversa¬ 
tion around to the subject of the convention. 
By some skilful engineering, of which Mrs. Ash¬ 
ton was entirely capable, Mrs. Burton was moved 
to ask some questions concerning Adelaide’s plans. 
Mrs. Burton did not realize that the question she 
asked was a natural outcome of Mrs. Ashton’s 
last remark. She supposed she asked it because 
she was interested in the bright young girl, who 
was such a favorite with both her daughter and 
her son. 


u LET NOT THY LEFT HAND KNOW.” 


Mrs. Ashton’s face became suddenly sad as she 
replied, “ O Mrs. Burton, that dear child has upset 
all her plans. I’m sure I don’t know how she is 
going to bear the sacrifice; but she is determined, 
and seems very brave about it. She does not 
want her young friends to know of it yet,”— here 
the lady lowered her voice decidedly, but gave to 
each word a distinctness and penetration that 
carried it straight to the ears of the young man 
in the other room, — “ but I’m sure she’d not 
mind my telling you, she thinks so much of you, 
and you will keep her secret for her. She is not 
going to Montreal. She has discovered a couple 
of poor young things who are struggling along, 
whose mother lives in Montreal, and they are 
breaking their hearts to see her. Adelaide has 
made up her mind to send one of them in her 
place. The other sister is quite ill, and Adelaide 
has promised to take the girl’s place in caring for 
her sister during her absence. Of course, if it 
were not for that last fact, and Adelaide’s feeling 
so strongly that this is her work, I should insist 
that she go with the girl; for I could not bear 
to have her give it all up, in spite of the fact that 
she has given nearly all her pocket-money to the 
delegate fund. But she seems quite enthusiastic 
about the sacrifice, and I hardly dare to attempt 
to interfere with such a spirit. The dear child 
will come to feel it, I know, however, when the 
others go without her,” and the mother sighed in 
a pathetic, satisfied way. 


182 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


Mrs. Burton expressed much regret that Ade¬ 
laide was not to be of the convention party, say¬ 
ing that her two young people would be deeply 
grieved, and praising the beautiful, Christlike 
spirit of the girl, much to the mother’s satisfac¬ 
tion. She asked many questions, too, about the 
two Mould sisters, which were answered as well 
as Mrs. Ashton was able to answer. When the 
caller finally took leave, it was with a sense of 
having accomplished her mission. Surely the 
young man in the library must have heard the con¬ 
versation, and she felt very certain that the hand 
on the desk had ceased to write during the latter 
part of her call. 

And so, while Adelaide was quietly planning to 
keep her little sacrifice and disappointment from 
the others, partly for Lettie’s sake and partly for 
her own, until the day of departure, her mother 
had spread the news to the ears that, more than 
all others, she would prefer should not hear it for 
another week yet. 


A COMRADE IN SERVICE. 


183 


CHAPTER V. 

A COMRADE IN SERVICE. 

T HE days went by rapidly, but none too fast 
for Adelaide. She was glad when the morn¬ 
ing for starting came. The intervening time had 
been quite a strain upon her. Although she had 
succeeded in her effort to keep the knowledge of 
her change of plans from nearly all the others of 
the party, still every day had brought to her reali¬ 
zations of what she was giving up. Then, too, 
the mother of the girl she had promised to look 
out for had to be told, and the girl herself, and 
Cora, her friend who was to chaperon in her 
place; and there were exclamations and commis¬ 
erations and praises to be borne, until Adelaide’s 
heart was fairly sick, and she wished that no one 
need know until it was all over. Her only help 
was to keep busy; and she plunged into work with 
such good will, helping every one with plans and 
preparations, that they never suspected that she 
was not going. 

At last the morning came which she longed 
for and rather dreaded. It would have been her 
pleasure not to go to the station with the others 
of the society, but rather to have stayed quietly 


I84 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

at home until they were gone. But on Lettie’s 
account that could not be. She was a new girl 
among them, and timid. This must be made a 
pleasant journey for her if the Master was to be 
pleased. Some words might be said that would 
wound Lettie’s sensitive nature, and make the 
pleasure that she was having a burden instead, 
unless the way was prepared by a few words to 
this one and that one. Adelaide took up her 
cross, and went to speak those words. Just a 
gentle, “Nellie, will you be especially kind to 
Miss Mould during this journey ? I want her 
to have a very happy time and, “ Edwin, I wish 
you would look out for any wants Miss Mould 
may have. Do it for Jesus’ sake, won’t you?” 
A few such words were spoken to the ones that 
she knew might be forgetful or slighting or cold 
in their demeanor toward the girl. Tom Satter- 
lee, the Burtons, and a few other friends she knew 
needed no reminders. They were always on the 
lookout for cups of cold water to be given “ in His 
name.” 

Adelaide’s heart almost misgave her as she 
passed Harold Burton on the platform, receiving 
his bow, which somehow bespoke a pleasant in¬ 
timacy, and noting the lightening of eyes and face 
in a grave, sweet smile at her approach. It was 
worth something to have a friendship with such a 
young man. What pleasant times with this friend 
would not she lose by her self-denial! 

Lettie Mould was undeniably frightened when 


A COMRADE IN SERVICE. 


185 


she came to the station. She had just left poor 
Annie looking sick and weak. Perhaps she ought 
not to go, after all. The tears were scarcely dried 
from their parting. Then the crowd on the plat¬ 
form brought sudden consternation to her. Must 
she face them all ? Must she take that terribly 
long journey in their company ? They would all 
know that she was to take their favorite’s place, 
and she would have nothing but cold glances in 
consequence. The dainty gray gingham that made 
her look so neat and pretty seemed suddenly to 
have Adelaide’s name written all over it. Her 
face grew red, her heart beat fast, and her eyes 
were dim with unshed tears. She did not in the 
least know whom she was looking at or what she 
was going to do next, until Adelaide’s arm was 
wound lovingly about her, and she said, “ Miss 
Mould, I want you to know my friend Cora better. 
You and she must get well acquainted during this 
trip.” 

Adelaide had seen the frightened look in Lettie’s 
face, and with her rare tact found little ways to 
make her feel at her ease. All the time until the 
train started she kept that protecting arm about 
the girl, and no chance was she given for hearing 
others wail over Adelaide’s departure, for the con¬ 
versation was always skilfully managed. Indeed, 
even at the station Adelaide managed to keep her 
secret pretty well ; and not until the delegation 
was well under way did some of its members dis¬ 
cover that she was not in their midst. Well for 


1 86 WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

her plans that her mother had chosen the Burton 
family to whom to confide her daughter’s secret, 
rather than some others in the church. 

No time did this girl give herself for looking 
after the departing train, or lingering over remem¬ 
brances of last year’s starting. She could not 
even bear to sing the parting hymn, “ God be with 
you till we meet again.” The tears were too dan¬ 
gerously near the surface ; so she slipped through 
the crowd unobserved, and walked rapidly down 
the street to the house where the lonely sister 
Annie lived. She would see whether people could 
forget themselves in doing something for others ; 
so, with a prayer in her heart for help and courage, 
she pressed back the tears, and gave herself up to 
making Annie have a happy day. 

The evening came at last, and Adelaide sat 
alone by the window, in the cool, dark parlor. 
She had turned out the lights herself; for there 
was no one else about just now, and the moon¬ 
light streamed in across the room, and was softer 
than the gaslight. Her mother and Mrs. Satter- 
lee had gone out together in search of ice-cream 
and recreation at some church festival near by ; 
but Adelaide was weary with her day, and wanted 
some time to herself to think things over: so she 
had declined their most urgent invitation to ac¬ 
company them, and was alone. 

Her thoughts were not altogether happy ones. 
She was disappointed in herself. Was she sorry 
she had done this thing ? Was it pride alone 


A COMRADE IN SERVICE. 


18 / 


that made her think the friends at the station did 
not care for her so much as she had hoped, be¬ 
cause she had been able so easily to slip away 
without their knowledge ? Was it wounded pride 
that brought that bitter pang when she remem¬ 
bered the glimpse she had caught of Harold Bur¬ 
ton’s face while one of the girls was telling him in 
sorrowful tones how she was not to be of the 
party? She had looked for an expression of dis¬ 
appointment there; but there had not been much, 
— only a few words which had sounded to her 
like polite surprise, and then he had changed the 
subject. Perhaps there was no reason for her to 
expect more of him; but he had seemed so good a 
friend, and in spite of herself she felt hurt. It 
was evident she was allowing herself to expect too 
much, and her cheeks glowed hot in the darkened 
room. 

In the midst of her thoughts there came a step 
that made her start. It was a manly, familiar 
step, but belonged to one whom she supposed to 
be many miles away by this time. Could there 
be another step so like his ? 

He paused by the door a moment, and, seeing 
no one about, came on to the parlor, and stood a 
moment by the door, peering into the shadowed 
corners of the room. 

Adelaide’s heart stood still, and her breath 
came slowly ; then her presence of mind came 
back, and she quietly rose by the window. The 
soft rustle of her dress attracted his attention just 


188 


WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 


as he was about to go back to the door-bell for 
aid in finding what he wanted. He came across 
the room now, and took her hand in a warm, firm 
grasp. 

“ Adelaide ! ” 

There was so much in his tone as he uttered 
her name, that though she tried hard to control 
her own voice, it would tremble as she said, 
“Why, Harold! I thought you were gone” — 
she began. “ Did you think I could go without 
you?” he asked, bending down,—and then, “Sit 
down, Adelaide. I have something to tell you.” 

So in the moonlight there was told her a story 
that made all the sadness of her heart melt away, 
and there was so much of this story that he almost 
forgot to explain how it was that he discovered 
that she was not going. 

“But, Adelaide,” he said by and by, when 
time had slipped away so that they began to fear 
that the people from the festival might soon be 
coming home, “ when I heard what a beautiful 
thing you were going to do, I longed to help you 
in your plan somehow. I could not take any 
credit to myself for staying at home, because I 
did not want to go unless you were there to en¬ 
joy it with me; so it would be no real self-denial 
to give up my trip. But I could use the money 
in some way that would please the Master. I 
thought of sending Annie Mould with her sister, 
but found upon inquiring of their landlady, who 
thinks a great deal of the two girls, that Annie 


A COMRADE IN SERVICE. 


189 


was not physically able to take the journey, and 
that the thing the girls and their mother wanted 
most in life was to bring the mother here to live 
with them. It took a good deal of planning to 
bring it all about; but I managed it all at last. 
My trip to Montreal goes to bring the mother, 
with her goods and chattels, down here when 
Lettie comes back. A letter containing the 
money and a full explanation is probably now in 
her hands. I had Tom Satterlee take charge of 
it, and he is to give it in such a way that she 
need never know where it comes from. Then if 
there is anything else to be looked out for, he 
will see to it, and telegraph me if necessary. 
Father found out about it, and wanted to have his 
share in the work; so the little cottage on Rose 
Lane is put in order, and they can have it for a 
very low rent, merely nominal. Father did not 
dare give it for nothing, lest their feelings should 
be hurt.” 

“ O Harold,” said Adelaide softly, her eyes 
shining in the moonlight, “ what wonderful things 
you have done! and oh, how happy I am ! ” 

They would have talked all night, perhaps, had 
they not been interrupted. Voices were heard. 

“Your mother is coming, Adelaide; I want to 
ask her to-night. May I ? I want to feel that 
you are surely my own.” 

A little later that same evening Mrs. Ashton 
sat in her room, and surveyed herself with satis¬ 
faction. “ Thank fortune, Adelaide is safe at 


I9O WHY ADELAIDE STAYED HOME. 

last! ” she said to herself. “ I knew I could 
manage it if I put my mind to it.” 

And Adelaide, in the quiet of her own room, 
opened the leaves of her Bible, and read, I will 
lead them in paths that they have not known.” 
She smiled as she read, and then knelt down to 
thank her heavenly Father for his wonderful ways 
with her. 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 


I T was Monday morning, and the world had put 
on its work-a-day clothes again, and started 
the busy song of the week. Even the lazy clouds, 
which but the day before had been still and 
dreamy in their Sabbath quiet, seemed to be 
scurrying across the sky with a purpose. The 
whiz and whir of machinery from the tannery and 
saw-mill across the river could be distinctly heard. 
Everything seemed to be bustling about to get 
ready for spring to come. The withered grass, 
amid patches of dirty, discouraged-looking snow, 
that seemed about ready to take its departure, 
spruced up a little, and actually tried to send a 
faint green tinge of a smile back to the sunlight 
that fell warmly about. 

A young man, a drummer perhaps, walked 
briskly down the street of the little village toward 
the two stores, with a large valise in his hand. 
He had a business air, even to the slightest detail 
of his dress. His nicely fitting clothes reminded 
one of the bustling city. 

But despite all the atmosphere of hurry that 
hung over the place, John Chamberlain still stood 
191 



192 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

at the front gate. He was watching the young 
man, presumably a drummer, as he hastened down 
the street. It was not so much the man, either, 
that his eyes were fixed upon, as it was his clothes. 
Any one dould tell by a glance at those clothes 
that they were made by a city tailor, and they 
gave their wearer an air of grace and importance 
which John Chamberlain’s clothes had never at¬ 
tempted to impart to him. He knew the lines of 
that coat on the young drummer almost as well as 
his own; for had he not studied their shape with 
careful eye during the whole of the sermon yes¬ 
terday morning, envying the turn of the collar, 
and even the two jaunty buttons set behind ? He 
looked down again at his own coat as the other 
disappeared within a store at the end of the 
street. What was it but an ungainly covering 
which always made him feel that his hands were 
encumbrances which were to be got along with 
the best way he could ; that his joints were made 
of wood, and would not move at his bidding; and 
that his whole figure was utterly out of proportion 
in every direction ? 

He wished he could have a coat made by a 
real city tailor himself. He had never had one. 
Money was scarce. He despised these cheap, 
ready-made affairs he had worn since he had 
grown too old for his mother to make his clothes. 
He took out his knife, and cut spiteful little 
chips out of the fence post. Why should that 
fellow — meaning, of course, the drummer — wear 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 193 

such coats with that insolent, easy way, and he, 
John Chamberlain, have to wear these slimsy, 
store-made things that he despised ? He had 
been given a good education, if he was poor, and 
the drummer did not look as if he had any brains 
worth mentioning ; and yet Jessie had cast actual 
glances of admiration in his direction after church, 
and asked who he was. Of course the admiration 
was for the coat. Jessie was such a stylish, trim 
little thing! Here his face grew tender as the 
vision of the slender, dainty, bright-faced girl 
came before him —Jessie, who always seemed to 
be able to get up a pretty costume out of almost 
nothing, which, nevertheless, made her look utterly 
unlike any of the other girls of the village, and to 
set her far above them so far as regarded style, 
though they tried ever so hard to eclipse her. 
His heart rebelled against a fate that kept him 
from having a coat that would merit admiration 
from Jessie. He felt sure he would be able to 
walk up the church aisle with as much noncha¬ 
lance as the young stranger if he could wear his 
clothes, and not let his hands and feet get in the 
way. 

There was much nicking of the fence post done 
that morning, for John Chamberlain was deciding 
an important question ; but it was settled at last, 
and he started for his work. The busy things 
about him seemed to have given over wondering 
why he was idle so long, and left him to himself. 
He walked down the street briskly, too, now. He 


194 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

had decided to have a new coat; and, once decided, 
it was almost as good as having it on his back 
that minute. Why, there was the entire variety of 
coats to choose from, — Prince Alberts, sack-coats, 
business coats, and the whole world of coats! 
An evening suit even hovered dimly on the hori¬ 
zon of his mind, without any shadow of an idea of 
coming nearer to him, however; but it was pleas¬ 
ant to him to think of it as a possibility. He 
walked down that street in all the glory of the 
best-fitting clothes that the finest city tailor could 
make. His arms swung easily at his sides, and 
he was for once utterly unconscious of the red, 
bony appendages which he used for hands, and 
which had hitherto troubled him so much. Imagi¬ 
nation can do a great deal. It even went so far 
as to make him raise his arm,—covered at that 
moment with the prospective Prince Albert sleeve, 
which was to be bound with braid, and finished 
with two small, neat buttons, — and touch his hat 
with as much grace of movement as a city drum¬ 
mer could possibly use, to Jessie as he passed her 
house; and she thought as she blushingly re¬ 
turned the salute, — 

“ What a fine figure John has! Strange I 
never noticed before how handsome he is grow- 

ing 1" 

If he was going to have the coat, he might 
as well have it at once, he thought. In two 
weeks it would be the Easter vacation. Jessie’s 
two brothers would be at home then for a few 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 195 

days, and she had said she wanted to have a 
little gathering for them. It would be very nice 
to have something new for that time. Indeed, 
now he thought of it, it was absolutely necessary 
that he have it for church on Easter Sunday. 
Why, it would be very embarrassing to have to 
attend church under the eyes of those college 
brothers with his old, ill-shaped coat! It certainly 
would not do. He would go down to the city the 
very next day and have his measure taken, that 
the new one might be ready in good season. This 
much settled, he went to his work with a light 
heart, and whistling a joyous tune. All day long 
as he went about his duties he saw himself as he 
would appear in the new garment. He felt the 
pleasure with which he should enter the church. 
It would be an unusual time, anyway. The 
church would be trimmed, and all the ladies 
would have their spring bonnets. John had a 
dim idea that a new bonnet was in some way 
connected with Easter time ; and if bonnets, why 
not coats ? Of course he must look his best. He 
would feel that he fitted in with the flowers and 
the extra music and all the gala attire, if he 
had it. 

But about the resurrection of Jesus Christ, 
that most marvellous of all the proofs that God 
has given us of his love and mercy, that wonder¬ 
ful story which makes us sure that we shall never 
die, John thought not one whit that day. Eas¬ 
tertide to him was a time of the wearing of new 


I96 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

clothes ; a time of the return of college brothers; 
a time of enjoyment that held all sorts of delight¬ 
ful possibilities for him. Not that he was not 
a Christian, this young man whose heart at 
that present moment seemed to be given over 
to dress. Why, he was to lead the young peo¬ 
ple’s prayer-meeting on that eventful Easter Sun¬ 
day night; but about that he had forgotten 
entirely. When it did again enter his conscious¬ 
ness, it looked to him like a tremendous cross, 
especially under the existing circumstances of 
possibly sarcastic college brothers, which must be 
tqken up and carried in the easiest way, but 
which, nevertheless, would be easier if carried on 
the shoulders of a new coat. He could even 
think of himself quite composedly, as standing up 
before the desk announcing a hymn, if the new 
garment were by him to keep him in countenance. 
On the whole, that meeting had pleasant sides to 
it; for after the cross had been borne and the 
meeting was over, he might persuade Jessie to let 
him walk home with her, and perhaps, if the even¬ 
ing was pleasant, and the moonlight bright, she 
would not mind walking on up the hill a little 
way, and then, perhaps — it might be — that he 
would feel the time had come to say something 
to Jessie which he had long wanted to say. It 
would all depend upon the effect of the new coat. 

So the young fellow worked and whistled away, 
and thought his pleasant thoughts ; and the night 
at last came when he could dream them all over 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT- I97 

again; and then the morning, with an early break¬ 
fast, and a rush for the fast express that would 
take him to the city in an hour and a half. 

Then began a day for John. He had not ima¬ 
gined it would be so hard a task to do his shopping. 
He went from tailor to tailor, seeking exactly the 
coat of his ideal; but it proved hard to find, at 
least at the price he could afford to pay, for this 
young fellow had extravagant tastes, although he 
did not know it. They showed him one after 
another, and tried to make him think he would 
have a ready-made one ; but he was firm. A coat 
made to order he would have, and no other; and 
at last, after weary searchings, he found the right 
piece of cloth, corresponding both to the size of 
his purse and his taste. It was with pride that he 
doffed his old coat that his measurements might 
be taken; and he drew his fine proportions up to 
their full height, and looked down upon himself 
as the tape-measure went grimly around his chest. 
Soon he would have a coat that he could be proud 
of ; and this tape-measure was its harbinger, and, 
therefore, a badge of honor. Of course he did 
not really think all this, or at least did not realize 
that he was so doing, for John was a young man 
of too good sense to have said all this to himself ; 
but there was the pleasant sensation of it in his 
soul which made him lean back in his seat in the 
homeward-bound evening train, and actually enjoy 
his ride home, weary though he was with his 
unwonted shopping. 


I98 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

With thoughts of himself in his new attire the 
days dragged slowly by until it should be done; 
and as the Sabbath of importance drew near, he 
began to be anxious lest it would not be done in 
time. But the coat arrived from the tailor’s, and 
Jessie’s brothers from their college, on the same 
train on Saturday evening. John met them both 
at the station, a little chagrined, it is true, that he 
had to wear his old coat; but it was dark, and he 
kept well in the shadow. Besides, he felt a sort 
of gentle, stylish influence from the bundle under 
his arm, even through its several heavy wrappings. 
With the knowledge of what was inside that 
brown paper he could walk easily beside even 
college-bred young men. 

They beguiled him into a scheme for the even¬ 
ing, the brothers and Jessie ; and he came home 
rather late, the precious package still unwrapped, 
only to remember as he entered his room that 
he was the leader of the meeting for the fol¬ 
lowing evening, and that he had not prepared 
for it in the slightest degree. He took down 
his Bible, and tried to make some little prepa¬ 
ration then ; but his eyes were heavy, and he 
soon gave it up. One look at his coat he must 
have before his head touched the pillow. He 
untied the strings, and drew it from the paper; 
but just as he held it at arm’s length, and shook 
out the folds, his kerosene lamp, which his land¬ 
lady did not believe in filling very often, flickered 
and sputtered, and its flame sank with a gasp 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. I99 

lower and lower. He turned it up impatiently, 
and tried to look again closely at the coat ; but 
the flickering flame winked lugubriously, and gave 
warning that it would last but a moment more, 
and he would better hasten to his couch or he 
would be left in utter darkness to make his final 
preparations. He laid the coat carefully on his 
chair, and made all haste to obey, feeling it a little 
hard that he should be thus prevented from a 
scrutinizing view of this so-long-waited-for gar¬ 
ment. But he smiled as he turned out the light 
of the wicked, smoking lamp, and said to himself, 
“ Never mind. It will be there in the morning. 
I can wait, and I’ll enjoy it all the better then.” 

Then he went to sleep to dream of. the pleasant 
evening he had passed, and of the morrow that 
might be so full of joy for him. 

It was late when he awoke the next morning. 
The first early church bell was actually ringing. 
He sprang up, and dressed hastily, not caring to 
put on the new apparel until after he had been 
down to breakfast. Back in his room, he hastened 
at last to the coat. There it lay in all the glory 
of its newness and its supposed city fit. Its color 
was so very black and its buttons so very precise 
and trim, that he felt like apologizing for the 
blacking on his boots, brushed to a high polish 
though it was. 

On went the coat ; for there really was not 
much time left for admiration, if one was to get 
to the church before the whole congregation were 


200 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

seated. He buttoned the last button proudly, and 
stepped to the glass to survey himself. 

Oh, horror of horrors! What was this ? A 
cold chill began to creep upwards, and a heavy 
feeling came in place of his happiness. Could it 
be that it did not fit ? What! A city coat not 
fit! A coat cut by a city tailor not fit! Why, no 
one ever heard of such a thing! There must be 
some mistake. He must have put it on wrong in 
some way. He gave it a decided yank upwards, 
and then smoothed it over his shoulders with both 
hands, as a lady does with an ill-fitting dress, and 
then squared about again in defiance to the glass. 
But no ; the collar sagged down in the back with 
the same dogged air as before. With despair he 
seized hold of the shoulders of the innocent thing, 
and gave it such a jerk towards his ears as could 
not fail to bring about a decided change in the set 
of the article. But the more fiercely he pulled 
and smoothed and raised his shoulders and ducked 
his head forward in his attempts, the more deter¬ 
mined that collar grew to lop out and away from 
the shining linen it was meant to cover. The 
linen collar creaked and squeaked, the shirt bosom 
groaned, the necktie writhed itself till the bow 
was under one ear ; but all to no purpose. 

Disappointment was no name for the feeling in 
John’s heart. He had not realized how thoroughly 
he had come to depend upon this new coat, nor how 
much his heart had been set upon it. If he had 
been a girl he would have cried ; but being a man 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 201 

he did not understand himself, and his face grew 
red, and he tore around his room and glared at 
his crooked, cracked looking-glass. To add to his 
confusion, the second bell for church began to 
ring, and soon he knew it would toll. He tried to 
calm himself, for certainly this coat must be worn 
to church if he went at all. It would not do to 
wear the old one after all the contumely he had 
heaped upon it during the week. He tried another 
collar not quite so high, and then one higher, a 
darker necktie too; but all seemed to make no 
difference. He brushed his hair over again sav¬ 
agely two or three times ; but still his head would 
continue to look as if it were going on ahead of 
him, with that coat collar like a rudder steering 
him. At last the bell was almost done tolling ; 
he seized his hat and rushed down the street to 
the church, arriving there out of breath just as 
the choir began the opening anthem. 

It was something like the old story of the little 
girl with the new bonnet, with a “ ribbon and a 
feather and a bit of lace upon it.” You remem¬ 
ber, — 

“ ‘ Hallelujah, hallelujah,’ sang the choir above her head; 

‘ Hardly knew you, hardly knew you,’ 

Thought the little girl they said.’* 

John Chamberlain thought as he entered the 
church and searched about for a seat — and none 
was to be found — that the eyes of the whole con¬ 
gregation were upon him and his coat collar. If 


202 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

he had seen the tailor who made it, I am not sure 
but he would have strangled him then and there. 
He remembered with mortification the delight 
with which he had contemplated himself in his 
mind’s eye in this very coat ; and now the reality 
was causing him more embarrassment than he 
had known in all the time he had owned his old 
one. Why, he had been well pleased with that 
when it was new. He had not expected anything 
better of it than to cover him and to look clean 
and new. He realized with a sense of pain that 
this one best coat of his which was to him so 
much, had been just a common, every-day affair 
to the tailor who made hundreds of them for com¬ 
mon use by the city people. His painful thoughts 
were interrupted by hearing the announcement of 
the young people’s meeting that evening; and he 
experienced that sudden, awful feeling that he 
was rushing on to a moment for which he was 
not prepared and for which he seemed to have 
lost all power to prepare. 

But there did come a calm in this whirl of 
thoughts. It was during the singing, “ I know 
that my Redeemer lives.” The triumphant melody 
floated over the church, and John Chamberlain 
could but listen; for it was as if angels had charge 
of that music, and were wafting it to hearts, and 
not alone to ears. He did not understand why 
the thought that his Redeemer had risen thrilled 
him just then as it never had done before. Per¬ 
haps it was because the dear Lord, who could 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT, 203 

take time immediately after his glorious conquest 
of the world’s worst enemy, Death, to come to 
one sad-hearted, sorrowing woman, and comfort 
her with a few words, who graciously came to the 
upper chamber to satisfy the troubled doubts of 
one poor Thomas, was not all symbolized in the 
lilies and crosses that surrounded the altar, nor 
yet in the music that floated like breezes of 
heaven above their heads, but was there in very 
presence, ready to come to each troubled or 
doubting heart, even to John Chamberlain, sitting 
there in his new, disappointing coat, in the back 
seat, with his head bowed. 

Surely he did come and bless that heart, for 
John felt a peace which he had not known be¬ 
fore. It did not come from the sermon, for that 
was not so very wonderful, though John thinks 
it was; but it must have been from the Master 
himself, for it stayed with him. John could not 
have told much of the sermon when it was over. 
Indeed, he felt very uncertain about the text. 
He only knew that he had been with the dis¬ 
ciples as they took the body of Jesus from 
the cross and prepared it for the burial. He 
fancied he himself had helped to pour out the 
precious spices ; he felt the sorrow in his heart, 
all the while, that the disciples must have felt 
when they thought they were doing the last bit 
of service for their Master; and then he seemed 
to have stood afar off and watched the stone 
as it was rolled to the opening in the tomb and 


204 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

a great seal set upon it. It was all very vivid 
to him. He was certain he knew how the dis¬ 
ciples felt when the angel spoke to them; for 
the angel seemed to have spoken to him, and 
said, “Fear not, for he is risen.” And after 
that he seemed to have talked with the Master 
himself. 

The prayer which followed the sermon seemed 
to John to be conversation with a risen, present 
Saviour, and not a talk addressed to a God afar 
off, as prayer usually seemed to him. He had 
forgotten his coat utterly. He was uplifted. 

Jessie noticed him as he sat listening with 
earnest, attentive gaze to the speaker. John was 
a handsome man, she thought, as she turned 
back to listen herself, and see what it was in 
which he appeared to be so much interested. 
She had not seen the ill fit of the coat collar, 
and was not sufficiently versed in coats to know 
that it was wrong if she had. John looked nice 
in her eyes, and she was glad. 

Instead of going to walk as was John’s cus¬ 
tom on Sabbath afternoons, and dropping in at 
Jessie’s house perhaps, he stayed in his room. 
He felt that he had much to think about, and 
must be by himself. There was the meeting. 
It could not be passed by easily. After the 
impression the morning sermon made upon his 
heart, he did not dare to stand up there and lead 
the meeting in a perfunctory manner as he or¬ 
dinarily did when it came his turn, without saying 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 205 

one word upon the subject himself, nor even 
leading in prayer, but rather calling upon some¬ 
one else to do it for him, and shirking every 
possible duty that he could. For a little while 
that afternoon he felt that he must go. to some 
one and say that he could not lead the meeting, 
he felt so unworthy; but the same Spirit that 
had been with him in the morning led him to a 
different frame of mind, until he was willing to 
kneel down and say, “ Here, Lord, am I, unworthy 
though I am. Make me useful as thou wilt.” 

The new coat hung carelessly over a chair, 
forgotten, while the owner thereof studied his 
Bible; and when John Chamberlain once more 
donned his proud apparel, there was indeed a 
slight feeling of regret and disappointed hopes 
connected with it; but it seemed of very little 
consequence now, in the light of the last few 
hours. One glance he gave at himself in the 
glass just before he left the room ; and really the 
collar was not quite so bad after all, but lay 
almost meekly about his neck. He went down the 
street clothed not in fine raiment, as he had 
hoped to be, but in the quiet garment of humility. 
One thought was in his mind now, not of earthly 
apparel, but of spiritual; an old thought, which 
Paul expressed in these words : “ For in this we 
groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with 
our house which is from heaven . . . that mortal¬ 
ity might be swallowed up of life.” 

“Now is Christ risen from the dead, and be- 


20 6 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 

come the first fruits of them that slept.” He 
could almost hear the words of the morning song 
echoing yet in his heart ; and it brought new 
meaning to him now as he realized that he, too, 
would one day arise to be with Christ forever. 
Over and over in his mind ran the words, as he 
took that walk in the starlight while the bells 
chimed their joyful resurrection carols, “ So 
when this corruptible shall have put on incorrup¬ 
tion, and this mortal shall have put on immor¬ 
tality, then shall be brought to pass the saying 
that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.” 

They took that walk together after the service, 
John and Jessie, just as he had thought they 
might. She had meant to stop at her own gate, 
of course. When they had reached it, John had 
been talking so earnestly about the meeting, and 
there had been such a longing in her own heart 
not to have the talk end, that she had yielded 
when he held her arm a little more firmly and 
said, — 

“Just let us walk a little farther, Jessie; I’m 
not half through talking yet.” 

On they walked, not heeding how far after 
that ; out where the road melts into still green 
fields, with mossy, sleepy-looking fences on either 
side; out where the end seems to be not far off 
in a beautiful hill which cannot be climbed ; out 
where there is the crooning gurgle of a brook 
tinkling in some pasture, bringing to the minds 
of tired cows and sheep a comfortable sense of 


JOHN CHAMBERLAIN’S EASTER COAT. 207 

pleasant, cooling draughts to mingle with their 
dreams ; out where the soft gray clouds sweep 
overhead and do not look, and even the little trees 
by the roadside are asleep and cannot hear. 

They had many things to talk about, for the 
meeting had been a very helpful one, and this was 
a resurrection day to these two hearts in more 
ways than one. Jessie felt how cold-hearted a 
Christian she had been for a long time, and she 
told John she meant to be different now; that he 
had helped her to some new thoughts which she 
would never forget, and that Christ was more to 
her than he had ever been before; and John 
felt his heart throb with joy and gratitude that, 
though all unworthy as he was, he had been used 
by the Master so soon. 

Yes, and he did speak those words he had 
thought so long to speak, all unfitting as his coat 
collar was ; though I am not sure he would have 
dared to do so even in the glories of the drum¬ 
mer’s stylish suit, if the moon had not consider¬ 
ately drawn a cloud over her face very often that 
night, and if his heart had not been so warm and 
happy about other things, that such small, insig¬ 
nificant objects as coats vanished into oblivion. 

In due course of time, when the pain of the dis¬ 
appointment had disappeared, John told Jessie all 
about it, and she laughed with him, and cried 
about it too; for her true woman’s heart saw be¬ 
tween his comical sentences the keen disappoint- 


208 JOHN CHAMBERLAIN'S EASTER COAT. 

ment he must have felt over the failure of his first 
“ dress-up ” coat to be all he had planned it 
should be. But when the laugh was over, and 
they were quietly and soberly talking about it, 
she said, — 

“ John, I’m glad it didn’t fit, after all; for then 
you might have been complacent, and never come 
to have that wonderful feeling about the resur¬ 
rection of Jesus Christ which filled you so full 
that it reached even to me. Dress is one of the 
things that leads people away from Christ. It 
must be one of the greatest things he meant 
when he said, * Come out from among them, and 
be ye separate/ It always did seem dreadful to 
me to talk about Easter bonnets, as if they had 
any connection with the resurrection of Jesus 
Christ. Easter coats are not a bit worse than 
Easter bonnets, John ; but I am glad it didn’t fit.” 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 



HE sun was just bidding good-night to a little 


JL summer resort, mixing its lake with many 
colors, lighting up the windows of its cottages, 
touching with glory its tallest tree-tops, and mak¬ 
ing that particular spot feel as if there were no 
other spot on earth quite so beautiful or so be¬ 
loved by the sun. The lake had a peculiar look, 
as if it had been sweeping itself into small eddies 
just as the sun went down, and had caught itself 
in the act, and stood motionless to watch the light 
of his dying. One small sail-boat, with its still 
white sail, lay upon the surface, and drifted so 
softly you never would have dreamed but that it 
was becalmed. A little steamer going on its ne¬ 
cessary evening journey seemed to ply its wheels 
more quietly, and to hush its noisy breathing, as 
if the place and the sight might be desecrated 
thereby. Two or three cranes whirled low and 
slow above the calm water, as though performing 
some solemn priestly office. It was plain that the 
sun had caught and held the attention of the earth 
and its creatures ; for even the little birds hushed 
their chirpings, as with invisible hand the wonder- 



210 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 


ful colors of the sky were changed, now from a 
delicate yellow — the light that would come from 
the sun shining through a bit of amber — into a 
suggestion of emeralds seen through a flood of 
glory light, then a flash of a rosy-colored banner 
above, to blend with the soft gray clouds into the 
deeper purple, and to grow into scarlet and dark 
crimson as the sun sank lower. 

Only a few human witnesses were there that 
night, for it was late in the season. In fact, the 
season was already over, and there was but a 
handful of people remaining of all the throng who 
had visited that popular resort during the sum¬ 
mer. The place seemed desolate now to those ; 
so many cottages closed, and such an air of 
packed-upness as one met everywhere, made the 
few lingerers long to seek the sunset every night 
as something which did not pack up and go away, 
and which would be just as grand for its few 
observers as it had been all summer long for the 
crowds that had every night sought the summer¬ 
house on the summit of the hill by the lake. The 
summer-house, or observatory as it was called, had 
no flaring paint to mar the beauty of the scene, 
making gaudy attempt to vie with the sunset. It 
was of the soft gray tint that the wind and the sun 
and the rain spread over what is left them to paint. 
The human watchers were, for the most part, 
silent too, though one of them hummed softly to 
himself, “More love to thee, O Christ/’ until it 
seemed as if the song were a part of the sweet 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 211 

night air, breathing the very words into each 
heart. 

By and by the sky became quieter in its color¬ 
ings, and the evening star peeped shyly out, 
looking timidly around to see if the sun could any¬ 
where be seen, and then glowing more brightly as 
it gained courage. Soon over the water sounded 
the tones of the church-bell. But it seemed, 
though sweet and clear, only half-hearted in its 
call; and it may be that the ringer was at fault, 
for the sound did not invite joyfully, but slowly 
told of duty ahead. 

“ Why, it is prayer-meeting night ! ” said one 
of the lingerers at the sunset, reluctantly drawing 
out his watch. Surely, they had all forgotten ! 
But why was it that the thought of the little 
church did not seem as pleasant as this place 
where they had felt so near to God ? Could it be 
that, as they went slowly down the hill, with many 
a lingering look at the fading light, they actually 
had a thought that God was sending them away 
from him into a disagreeable, close house to do 
some duty for him ? 

Be that as it may, it seemed as though they did 
not all take his Spirit with them as they came 
straggling by ones and twos into the prayer-meet¬ 
ing room. The room itself was not naturally of a 
cheerful disposition; and its air, from confinement 
during the week, had become musty and dusty. 
Whoever acted as sexton seemed not to think it 
worth while to light up much for so few people; for 


212 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 


the kerosene lamps, set on brackets very high upon 
the wall, had to exert themselves as much as their 
turned-down condition would allow in order to 
make any light at all through their cloudy chim¬ 
neys. 

There were but two singing-books in the room, 
one on the pulpit and one shut up in the organ. 
The regular pastor of the church was away, and 
had asked a brother minister who was there on 
his vacation to lead in his place. One smoky 
lamp stood on the desk to glare unflinchingly into 
his eyes, and make him appear like a dark spectre 
to the people in front who were trying to see him. 
There were several good musicians there; but the 
leader did not appear to know it, for he looked 
despairingly at the vacant organ stool, and then 
after whispered consultations with one or two near 
him, who all shook their heads emphatically said, 
“Is there not some one present who will preside 
at the organ and help in the singing ? ” 

Deep silence ensued. There was a young man 
near the organ who played in his own church at 
home. He looked at the instrument and then at 
the minister, hesitated, looked again, and finally 
sat still. So did every one else. 

The minister gave out a hymn, carefully an¬ 
nouncing, twice, the number and page, utterly un¬ 
conscious of the fact that he was the only one in 
the room who possessed a book. He looked about 
once more encouragingly, in the hope that some 
one would appear to play ; but as no one did, he 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 213 

said, “ Will some one kindly lead us in the sing¬ 
ing ? ” Dead silence again. 

A young lady in the audience looked down at her 
toes, and thought to herself that perhaps she might 
start the tune if she was perfectly certain no one 
else would start out at the same time, and come 
into collision with her. She began thinking the 
tune over to herself, to see whether it would be too 
high if she should start; but the thought of it all 
had made her heart beat so fast that she concluded 
she should choke and break down if she tried, so 
she gave over the effort. The minister looked 
worried. He could not sing himself, poor man, 
or thought he could not, which answered the same 
purpose. At last, just as he was about to make 
one more appeal, a dear old sister with a very 
cracked voice started the tune in a very high key, 
and such of the congregation as could climb high 
enough accompanied her, though she had it pretty 
much her own way through some parts of the 
verse. The minister noticed the scarcity of the 
music, and, looking about for a cause, discovered 
the lack of books. At the close of the hymn he 
remarked that he was sorry there were no more 
books, but that they would sing familiar hymns, 
and try to do their best, if every one would take 
hold. 

Now, there sat a boy in that room, almost a 
young man he was, who knew that not ten feet 
away from him was a closet door behind which 
were a hundred copies just like the singing-book 


214 THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 

which the minister held; and yet he did not stir 
from his seat to get them. Perhaps he did not 
think, or the distance from his seat to that door 
looked very long, or it might be that his boots 
squeaked, or he did not care about the singing, 
anyway. 

The minister prayed at length in heavy sen¬ 
tences, and not with his usual warmth. The sing¬ 
ing had somehow depressed him. It had been la¬ 
bor instead of praise. After the prayer came the 
reading of the chapter. There having been no 
regular topic for the evening announced, he had 
selected to be read the thirteenth chapter of John, 
where Jesus talks with his faithful ones about the 
new commandment of love which he gives to 
them, which shall be the sign by which all men 
shall know that, they are his disciples. Then they 
labored with another hymn, after which the leader 
made some remarks upon the chapter he had read; 
but the audience seemed to have almost forgotten 
what it was about, for they listened with a dreamy 
sort of air that showed their whole minds were 
not upon the subject. 

At the close of a verse of another hymn, when 
the meeting was thrown open, they all sat as if 
under a spell, until at last one good old man arose 
and prayed long and in a low tone, unheard by 
more than half of those present. The leader had 
hoped that this would start others : but no ; when 
the old man sat down there ensued a silence more 
intense than before. “ Will some one else lead 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 


215 


us in prayer ? ” he asked with the feeling that a 
little push would set things going all right. But 
no one else seemed inclined to pray. There was 
no help in falling back upon the singing, for each 
new attempt seemed a worse failure than the last, 
until it was becoming a positive torture to the 
poor minister to announce anything. And so the 
meeting dragged its weary minutes away. Occa¬ 
sionally some one would make a monotonous, 
commonplace speech, or a prayer whose sentences 
were old and dead, and asked for nothing in par¬ 
ticular ; but there were, all the way through, those 
awful pauses, like yawning chasms, between every¬ 
thing that was said or sung or done. 

It was not that they had no thoughts, these 
people who had brought their bodies without glad¬ 
ness up to the house of the Lord. There sat 
there one of those who had witnessed the sunset, 
and whose mind was filled with the glory of it 
still. He was thinking how like a Christian’s 
death is the sunset, with its greatest glory and 
beauty coming at the end of its course. The 
figure interested him much ; and he proceeded 
to carry it out in his mind, likening the whole 
course of the sun to the life of a Christian. It 
did occur to him to tell his thoughts to the 
meeting, but he could not seem to make anything 
he had to say fit the subject, and so he sat still; 
and it was a pity, for there were some there, hard¬ 
working people, in whose hearts the “ world had 
been set ” so firmly that they had almost forgotten 


21 6 THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 

that “ He hath made everything beautiful in his 
time,” and that the sunsets were given for them 
to look at, and from which to learn God’s lessons. 

There was a girl thinking over to herself with 
beating heart the words : — 

“ I was poor yesterday, but not to-day; 

For Jesus came this morning 
And took the poor away; 

And he left the legacy 
He promised long ago. 

So peace and joy and love 
Through all my being flow. 

I was tired yesterday, but not to-day. 

I could run and not be weary, 

This blessed way; 

For I have his strength to stay me, 

With his might my feet are shod, 

I can find my resting-places 
In the promises of God.” 

What if she should dare to repeat those verses ? 
Perhaps they would not fit, after all, and she was 
in a strange place. It would be better for her 
to keep still. Nevertheless, as each painful pause 
occurred, her heart beat loudly, and told her many 
times that she was almost on the point of opening 
her mouth; but she did not. Satan had made a 
key to fit every pair of lips there that night, and 
he kept them well locked. 

One old elder talked of the new commandment, 
the love that ran all through the Bible. Near 
him sat a young man who was a musician. The 
week before he had been in Music Hall in his city 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 21/ 

home, and listened to the wonderful tones of the 
great pipe-organ. Somehow his thoughts were 
carried back now to that music. He could hear 
the strains again. There was the deep-toned bass, 
the plaintive alto, the sweet tenor; but soaring 
high above all, clear and beautiful, came the 
soprano. Love was like that soprano, soaring 
above everything else, uplifting and bearing along. 
The thought seemed to the young man a good one, 
and he carried it out more fully; but only for his 
own benefit. He did not open his mouth for the 
others to hear. Several brethren had it in their 
hearts to pray; but when they considered the 
matter, there really did not seem to be much they 
could ask for except that the meeting might be 
blessed. It did not occur to them that they were 
doing their best to keep it from being a blessing 
to any one, and that perhaps it was in their hands 
to make it a good one. However that was, they 
kept still. 

“For I have loved thee with an everlasting 
love, therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn 
thee.” These words came to one present; and her 
heart told her to repeat them, and tell the others 
how God had verified that promise to her. 

“ He that hath my commandments, and keepeth 
them, he it is that loveth me ; and he that loveth 
me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love 
him, and will manifest myself to him,” thought 
another one of his disciples as she sat quietly in a 
shadowy corner. 


218 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN T. 


“ Behold what manner of love the Father hath 
bestowed upon us, that we should be called the 
sons of God.” “God is love; and he that dwell- 
eth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.” 
How the verses multiplied in the hearts of the 
worshippers! but they did not speak the words 
aloud. 

An old lady during the lengthy pauses longed 
to call for her favorite hymn : — 

“ There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, 

Like the wideness of the sea. 

There’s a kindness in his justice 
Which is more than liberty.” 


But she remembered the difficulty with which they 
had sung even those that the leader had selected, 
and her courage failed her. By her side sat a 
young lady who could have sung that sweet hymn 
so that it would have sounded almost like angel 
music, for she had often done so; but neither of 
them knew, and so the meeting lost that. One 
man in the audience remembered the words of an 
eminent speaker whom he had once heard : “ We 
are Christ’s inheritance. What has he in us ? ” 
and thought of quoting the verses, “ And when 
they had called the apostles, and beaten them, 
they commanded that they should not speak in 
the name of Jesus, and let them go. And they 
departed from the presence of the council, rejoi¬ 
cing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame 
for his name,” with the added sentence, “ That is 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 2ig 

what Jesus Christ had in those disciples ; what 
has he in us ? ” He thought the sentences over 
so many times that they finally came to have very 
little force, and he concluded that they were 
better left unsaid. If he had but said those words, 
it might have roused some few disciples to the 
fact that they were far from following the example 
of those who rejoiced to be counted worthy to 
suffer from speaking “in His name,” but were act¬ 
ing just as though some one had really commanded 
that they should not speak in the name of Jesus. 
No doubt Satan had, and they obeyed. 

“ Do not let the time run to waste,” urged the 
leader ; nevertheless, he would have been glad if it 
had “ run ” a little faster. Even the dragged-out 
singing did not take up much of it. Now and 
then he threw in a remark himself when the 
pauses were unbearable ; but he was growing ner¬ 
vous, and his remarks seemed desultory. He 
was a young man, and it embarrassed him exceed¬ 
ingly to have a meeting that he led go in this way. 
It lacked a good ten minutes of the end of the 
hour when he at last arose and said with a sigh, 
“ Well, if no one has anything to say we will close 
by singing, ‘Nearer, my God, to thee.’” 

They sang it in the same laborious way they 
had used for all the other hymns, and the long 
drawn out, “E’en though it be a cross,” floated 
out from the church to sound to the chance pass¬ 
er-by as though the people felt they were bear¬ 
ing that cross then and there, and that it was a 


220 THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 

heavy one. Then they bowed their heads, almost 
impatiently waiting for the parting words of bless¬ 
ing, and hastened out with a relieved air, as much 
as to say, “ There ! we have accomplished that for 
another week, and we are glad ! ” 

Now, there had been no infidel in that meeting 
to sneer and go out to make fun of the church on 
account of it; but there were many who were half¬ 
hearted Christians, and all needed the help that a 
good prayer-meeting would have given. There 
was even one soul who was questioning in her own 
mind whether there was anything desirable in 
religion, and had come that night with the inten¬ 
tion of trying to find out; but before the evening 
was half over she had forgotten all about her 
interest in Christ, and was filling her mind with 
other things. No one else seemed to take any 
interest in the meeting, why should she ? 

There were some who needed the organ’s story 
of love; some who needed the sunset’s picture, 
and the verses that might have been repeated, or 
the songs that might have been sung. Of course 
there were. Why else should they have been put 
into the hearts of those present ? The dim little 
cheerless chapel might have been filled with sacred 
thoughts and wonderful pictures for those of 
Christ’s children who spent their winters in that 
place, and came up to the house to worship every 
week; and the old lady who did not quite approve 
of having an organ in the church would have 
looked at it in a new way, perhaps, if she had only 


THEY MIGHT, BUT THEY DIDN’T. 221 

heard it used as a simple yet beautiful illustra¬ 
tion ; and ever after she might have listened for 
its soprano notes, and thought of the wonder¬ 
ful love they have been used to symbolize. 

Every soul in that room might have been up¬ 
lifted if each one had done his part. They-had 
forgotten the words, “ Then they that feared the 
Lord spake often one to another; and the Lord 
hearkened and heard it, and a book of remem¬ 
brance was written before him for them that 
feared the Lord and that thought upon his name.” 
It was not because the Lord had not sent his 
Spirit to each heart there with some message that 
they might have contributed to his meeting. 

What did the angels think as they watched ? 
And the Lord hearkening, and hearing so little of 
what he had given to be said ? How indifferent 
and unloving must his children have seemed that 
night! And the records of that meeting, can they 
be written in that wonderful book of remem¬ 
brance ? 










PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE- 
BREAKERS. 



HERE came a new assistant pastor to the 


X church on the avenue, with progressive 
ideas and a brisk business manner, and the peo¬ 
ple hoped much from his coming. The dear old 
pastor was beloved by all, and was in hearty sym¬ 
pathy with new ideas that the young people might 
bring forward ; but his eye was dim and his nat¬ 
ural force abated, and he was not able to give 
them the active service that they needed, so they 
looked to the vigorous younger man for help. 
The Young People's Society of Christian En¬ 
deavor was not in the most flourishing condition 
that could be desired, and the few faithful work¬ 
ers that were determined that it should not die 
went to the younger pastor for advice. They 
looked to see his face kindle with the light of the 
Christian Endeavor enthusiasm; but instead he 
looked at them rather coldly, and said, “Well, the 
fact is, my young friends, I don't believe in the 
Christian Endeavor Society. In the first place, I 
do not believe in pledges.” 

He launched into a long dissertation upon the 



224 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 

evils of pledges; but the faithful few heard little 
of it. They looked into his face with surprise, 
and turned away with a sigh, feeling that in him 
they would find no helper to bring their pledge- 
breakers back into the fold. 

“ How is it that he believes in marriage, then ?” 
asked the oldish young woman, as they walked 
away sadly together. “He had to pledge his 
truth and honor and loved' 

“ Or how can he urge people to unite with 
God’s church, since they have to take such solemn 
vows upon themselves ? ” said the serious one, 
with troubled eyes. 

“He can’t do much business with such ideas,” 
said the bright-faced boy, who always forgot to be 
respectful; “for how could he sign his name to a 
check ? A check is a promise to pay.” 

“ And what more is our Christian Endeavor 
pledge than a promise to pay to our God what we 
owe him ? ” added the serious one. 

“ Oh, he doesn’t understand yet,” gently put 
in the excuser, who always labored painfully to 
think the best of every one, especially a minister 
of God. “ The time will come when he will see.” 

This seemed like a prophecy. Then they sighed 
for the one that was gone forever from their midst, 
the Pray-er; for they knew what she would have 
said just here, “We must pray;” and with one 
accord they silently went into a vacant Bible-class 
room, and knelt together, their hearts full of peti¬ 
tion for help from the Fountainhead. 


PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 225 

But since the society, though feeble, was al¬ 
ready in existence, and was favored by the senior 
pastor, and since the pledges already made had 
been made to God and not to man, and therefore 
the pledges could not be by man released, the 
society could not cease to exist. A meeting was 
called by the faithful few, which the senior pastor 
promised to attend; and, as there had been special 
effort made, there were present nearly all whose 
names had ever been upon the society roll, and 
many who had never attended the meetings. 

The president made an earnest little speech, an 
exhortation to the pledge-breakers to renew their 
vows, and to outsiders to join them. He gave 
opportunity for others to speak; and after a few 
minutes’ silence a young man arose, and said 
that he had not joined the society because of the 
pledge, that he did not believe in pledges; but 
if they would do away with that feature of their 
organization, he would be glad to lend them his 
influence. 

The kind eyes of the old pastor had kindled 
with righteous indignation during this speech ; and 
when it was done he arose and said, “ Dear friends, 
the young brother who has just spoken forgets 
that it makes very little difference what he be¬ 
lieves in the matter, so long as the covenant-keep¬ 
ing God believes in pledges. The pledge is an 
institution that God has set up, and no man has a 
right to say he does not believe in it. Has God 
not promised to send his floods no more upon our 


226 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 


earth, and set his rainbow signature to the pledge 
written across his heavens ? Away back in the 
beginning of the ages God began his pledges; and 
long years afterward Paul, writing to the Galatians 
about it, said that even the law could not disannul 
the covenant which had been confirmed before of 
God, to make the promise of none effect.” 

In the silence that followed these impressively 
spoken sentences came the clear voice of the 
student member of the faithful few. 

“I was noticing to-day,” said he, “the theologi¬ 
cal definition of the word ‘covenant/ It is this : 
‘The promises of God as revealed in the Scrip¬ 
tures, conditioned on certain terms on the part of 
man, as obedience, repentance, faith, etc.’ So, 
then, a covenant, in distinction from a mere prom¬ 
ise, implies a condition, and indicates that both 
parties are concerned in the keeping of it. It 
seems to me that the first sentence of our Chris¬ 
tian Endeavor pledge gives it the nature of a 
covenant, ‘Trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ for 
strength/ We do not make this pledge alone; it 
is not a promise to God that we will do certain 
things for his benefit, but rather an acceptance 
of his promise to keep us through life, and give 
us strength to do his will, with the conditions 
of doing his will, which our pledge merely states. 
Am I right, doctor ? ” and he turned loving eyes 
to his elder pastor’s face as he sat down. 

“ Exactly so, my dear boy,” said the old min¬ 
ister, as he rose again. “ In signing your names 


PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 22/ 

to this pledge you merely do as Jacob did when 
he rose up and took a vow upon himself that 
he would do as God had told him to do, if God 
would keep his covenant. Even as Jacob set up 
the hard pillow for a memorial to the mutual 
promise, so do you sign your names to these 
small white cards, which may have cost some 
of you as wakeful nights as Jacob’s stone pillow 
cost him. More than this,” — and as he spoke 
the voice of the old Christian veteran seemed 
to soften and grow tremulous, — “ there may be 
some of you who do not know that the supper 
of our Lord, the sign, the seal, the centre, of our 
religion, is, first of all, a covenant, a pledge. You 
know we call it the sacrament. Do you know the 
sacrament is just the Roman sacramentum trans¬ 
ferred ? And the sacramentum was the oath of 
allegiance of the Roman soldiers. When a new 
legion had been enlisted, it was the custom to per¬ 
form the solemn ceremony of taking the sacra¬ 
mentum. A shield was taken, upturned, and into 
it were poured a few drops of the blood of each 
soldier and of their commander, which was col¬ 
lected from a slight gash made in the bared arm 
of each by his own sword. Then the shield was 
held aloft by the commander, and the soldiers 
passed by in turn, each one as he passed dipping 
his hand into the blood with the commander. By 
so doing captain and soldier swore fealty each 
to the other by this solemn symbol, the captain 
promising to stand by the soldier, and the sol- 


228 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 


dier by the captain, even to the shedding of the 
last drop of blood. This spirit it was that made 
the Roman legion the finest military organization 
the world has ever seen. This spirit it is that 
breathes through every part of the communion, 
the sacrament. Dear young fellow-soldiers, never 
forget that the communion means the renewal 
of Christ’s vow to you as well as yours to him. 
Without, this my sixty-seven years of service in 
Christ’s cause could not have been. With this 
spirit, I pray, I believe, that the Christian En¬ 
deavor army, setting it forth so clearly as is done 
in their pledge, will recruit a legion before whose 
endurance and devotion to their Master the de¬ 
votion and endurance of the famed Roman legion 
will pale. This is my idea of the purpose and the 
effect of the Christian Endeavor pledge.” So 
saying, he sat down. 

There was a hush over the meeting. The 
young man who had objected to pledges shrank 
into a small space behind a pillar, and tried to 
look careless while he read the hymn-book. The 
others were taking in for the first time the so¬ 
lemnity of their covenant vows. Some drew out 
their cards and read them, while others’ eyes 
sought the large wall-roll containing, in clear let¬ 
tering, the revised pledge. At last a conscien¬ 
tious one spoke. 

“ Mr. President,” he said, “ the pledge has 
always seemed a solemn thing to me, but I have 
objected to signing because it seemed to me I 


PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 229 

could not always be sure of keeping my promise. 
It is too much to promise that I will do whatever 
Christ would have me do, for how can I be sure 
in every case just what it is that he would have 
me do ? And then those two things that follow, 
— praying and reading the Bible every day. I do 
not like to promise that; for I might forget it 
some time, or there might be occasions or circum¬ 
stances when to do this might be an impossibility. 
For instance, I have frequently come home from 
work quite late at night, when my evident duty 
was to go immediately to rest without taking 
time for protracted devotions. And what if one 
were travelling, detained on the road over night, 
without a Bible ? Or there might be many other 
circumstances under which one would be com¬ 
pelled to break such a promise. 1 do not like to 
promise something that I am not sure I can 
keep.” 

Then arose the earnest-faced secretary, who 
had always a ready answer. 

“ Mr. President, it seems to me that the rules 
of daily Bible reading and prayer, together with 
that first clause, 4 Trusting in the Lord Jesus 
Christ for strength,’ are for the purpose of help¬ 
ing us to know and decide under all circumstances 
just what Jesus Christ would have us do. If we 
ask his guidance, and read his word, which is a 
lamp to light our way, and trust the Spirit to 
lead, how can we mistake the way that he would 
have us take? And if we remember the clause, 


230 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 

‘I will make it the rule of my life,’ which pre¬ 
cedes the promise concerning the prayer and 
Bible reading, the tenderest conscience need not 
be afraid to promise; for that phrase was put 
into the pledge with the revision to provide ex¬ 
plicitly for just such occasions as have been 
mentioned, although the spirit of it was present 
in the former pledge.” 

‘‘And I want to say,” added a frank-faced mem¬ 
ber of the faithful few, “that I objected to sign¬ 
ing the pledge once on that account, — Bible 
reading. I said I was afraid I couldn’t always 
get time to read; but I found out on looking 
into my heart that the true reason was that I 
did not want to tie myself to reading every day. 
Then I signed the card. I keep it in the frame 
of my dressing-case mirror, where I see it when¬ 
ever I enter my room. I want to say right here 
that I have discovered one benefit of the pledge- 
card ; many a time it has reminded me, and I 
have opened my Bible just because I promised, 
when otherwise I would have thought myself too 
tired or too busy to read, and I’ve found the 
bit of comfort, or rest, or admonition, that I ex¬ 
actly needed. I don’t believe any one is ever 
too tired or too busy to read at least one verse 
in the Bible every day, and he will surely find 
himself better off for doing so. It seems to me 
in these days of cheap Bibles that every Christian 
Endeavorer might have a small Bible or a piece 
of one in his pocket, so that it wouldn’t be pos- 


PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 23 I 

sible for us to get caught anywhere unable to 
keep that part of our pledge.” 

“The only thing I object to in the pledge,” 
said a constitutional objector, “is the part about 
the regular church services. Of course I’ll go 
to church when I can; and it seems to me an 
utterly unnecessary cumbering of the pledge. I 
must say if I go to the Christian Endeavor meet¬ 
ing, I consider I have done my duty, and I don’t 
feel bound to go out to the Wednesday evening 
church prayer-meeting, nor to stay to evening 
preaching Sunday if I want to go home. The 
fact is, I can’t conscientiously spare so much 
time to meetings.” 

This brought the dear old pastor to his feet 
again. 

“Children,” he said, “dear children, now right 
here let me warn you. Don’t make a mistake. 
The greatest argument that has ever been urged 
against the Christian Endeavor movement is that 
it draws the young people away from the church 
prayer-meetings and regular church services, and 
that their hearts are enlisted merely for their 
society, and not for the church of Christ. Take 
care. That is right against the Christian En¬ 
deavor principles. Your motto is, 'For Christ 
and the Church.’ What is your organization for, 
if not to do better work for and in the church ? 
And how can you do it if you, who are to be 
its future members and pastors and leaders, go 
away from its meetings, and leave us poor old 


232 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 

folks, who are almost ready to leave the church 
on earth for the one in heaven, to run all the 
meetings ? We need you in our prayer-meet¬ 
ings, and we need you in the church services, 
both morning and evening. Bring your short 
prayers and verses and speeches into the church 
prayer-meeting, and help us old ones to be young. 
Bring your fresh, earnest faces to the evening 
service, to encourage the pastor as he preaches, 
and to help us to draw in outsiders. You can 
always conscientiously give that as a reason to 
your heavenly Father for absenting yourself from 
your own meetings.” 

“ But these excuses,” said another. “ I’m not 
always willing to give to the world my reason 
for being away from meeting, and I don’t like 
the idea of pledging to speak in meeting always. 
It makes the speaking or praying merely per¬ 
functory. Why not leave that out, and let us 
take part when we have something to say ? ” 

Said the chairman of the prayer-meeting com¬ 
mittee : — 

“But how could we keep up the interest in 
our meetings if we were not sure the members 
would all be present, and would be sure to take 
some part? There would be times when we 
should have but a Quaker meeting, for no one 
would feel like saying anything; and when the 
pledge was taken away, the members would 
many of them cease to make preparation before 
meeting. The excuse is but a help, after all, 


PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 233 

making the members and the meeting feel that 
they are in sympathy, even if they are not 
all able to be in one room at the meeting.” 

There was much discussion before this meet¬ 
ing finally broke up ; but at its close many pledge- 
breakers came forward and re-signed the pledge, 
and others, who had never been interested be¬ 
fore, came, asked for pledge-cards, and went home 
thoughtfully studying them. 

The result was that in a few weeks the mem¬ 
bership roll of the society had largely increased, 
the attendance was trebled, and there were added 
interest and solemnity in the meetings. The 
next week’s Wednesday evening prayer-meeting 
felt the change. Many young faces were there, 
and several young voices timidly broke the pauses 
which had hitherto been so painful. The weeks 
that succeeded proved that this was not a mo¬ 
mentary prick of conscience which had been 
given to the society. The members took it upon 
themselves to see that there was a large delega¬ 
tion always at the church prayer-meeting, and 
they urged upon every possible occasion the 
supremacy of the church service over their own 
society meeting. No more went the society 
trooping home or out to take a pleasant walk 
Sabbath evening, instead of going into the church 
after their prayer-meeting. It gladdened the 
hearts of both pastors to see the large audiences ; 
and outsiders began to wonder what were the 
attractions in that church, and to come and see. 


234 PLEDGE-MAKERS AND PLEDGE-BREAKERS. 


Nor was this all. Even the new assistant pas¬ 
tor had to acknowledge a spirit of willingness to 
help on the part of all his young people; and just 
about a year from that time his faithful few had 
that talk with him about the pledge, he gathered 
them all in a group about him after a sweet Sab¬ 
bath’s work was done, and told them: “ Dear 
friends, I want to take back what I said a year 
ago, for I have learned better things. I do be¬ 
lieve in the Young People’s Society of Christian 
Endeavor; and I do believe, for I have been made 
to see the value of it, in the revised pledge.” 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 


“ T T THAT’S the subject of our meeting to-night, 

VV Tom?” asked Tom’s Cousin Helen one 
Sunday afternoon. “ I’ve lost my topic card, and 
could not remember what was given out in church 
this morning; so I ran in here to see yours.” 

“ It’s an old missionary meeting,” answered 
Tom, throwing down the paper he had been read¬ 
ing. “ I wish it was anything else in life.” 

“Why, Tom Brainard! Aren’t you ashamed 
of yourself?” said Helen, laughing at the expres¬ 
sion on his face. 

“I don’t know as I am,” answered Tom. “ Sit 
down, Helen. I’ve been bothered about this ever 
since church was out. You see, Fred Millard is 
sick. It was his turn to lead; and he has sent 
word to me to lead it, and I can’t find a thing in 
earth to make it go. You can’t make a mission¬ 
ary meeting interesting, anyway. Just think back, 
Helen ; we’ve never had one interesting mission¬ 
ary meeting in all the time our society has been 
organized, have we ? ” 

“No,” admitted Helen, after a moment’s sober 
thought; “ I don’t know that we have.” 

235 



236 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 




“Well, just see; here it is the time of year 
when there’ll be a good many strangers from the 
hotel present, — that is, if our hotel committee has 
done its work well, —and there ought to be a meet¬ 
ing that will do them good. We have grand ones 
when we have any other topic, but a missionary 
meeting just kills us dead. There’ll be nothing 
but dry statistics, see if there is; and every 
stranger that comes in will wish he had stayed at 
home. I don’t know how to manage it, I’m sure. 
Dr. Brower will get up and read a long article 
from some magazine; and who will know any 
more when he is done than when he began ? 
Then we’ll sing ‘ From Greenland’s icy moun¬ 
tains,’ and ‘ Rescue the perishing,’ and there will 
be some more statistics read by Fannie Moore and 
Miss Van Anden, and then the meeting will drag. 
And what I’m to do for my part of it I’m sure I 
don’t know; ” and Tom slid down a little farther 
in his easy-chair, and scowled. 

Helen laughed at his description; but she felt 
that it was perfectly true. 

“They are stupid things, that’s a fact, Tom,— 
or rather, always have been,” she said; “but I 
don’t see why they should be. If missionary 
meetings are good things to have, —and I sup¬ 
pose they must be, or they would not be upheld 
by all the good people in the church, and urged so 
much by the head of our society, — why, then 
there must be some way to make them interest- 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 237 

“ I should like to know what it is,” said Tom. 

“ How nice it would be if we only had a real 
missionary with us to talk about missions, wouldn’t 
it ? ” said Helen thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know,” said Tom gloomily; “we 
haven’t, anyway, so what’s the use ? and if we 
had, he would be likely to tell just as many statis¬ 
tics as Dr. Brower will read. Besides, that 
wouldn’t be what I should call a Christian En¬ 
deavor missionary prayer-meeting. That would 
be more like a lecture, or an amusement for us, 
if it was at all interesting.” 

“That is true,” answered Helen. “Well, if 
missionary work is one of the things that we as 
Christians ought to have to do with, and to help 
along in, why shouldn’t we be interested in it as 
well as in any other subject?” 

“Well, we aren’t,” said Tom almost crossly; 
“ and I don’t see how we are to get up an inter¬ 
est, I’m sure. As for professing to be interested 
in those long articles full of strange names of 
places and people, I can’t say I am, and that’s 
all there is about it. I never feel as if I had 
received a bit of good from them. I only wish 
you had to lead this meeting.” 

“Well, I don’t,” answered Helen, laughing, 
“ for I should be as much at a loss as you are; 
but, Tom,” and her face sobered down, “ have 
you been to the Head for orders ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked her cousin, with 
a puzzled expression. 


238 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 


9f 


“Why,” said Helen, her cheeks growing a little 
pink, and hesitating, she hardly knew why, to 
speak what she had to say, “ I mean, have you 
prayed about it?” She looked down in her lap, 
and fingered the corner of her handkerchief. 
These two cousins were used to talking about 
their society and all that pertained to it, but had 
ever felt a little shy of speaking plainly about 
what was most dear to them. They lived next 
door to one another, and were dear companions on 
all occasions ; but it was a little hard for Helen 
to say what she did. 

Tom looked at her in surprise for a minute, and 
then laughed in a rather embarrassed way. 

“No, I don’t know as I have,” he answered; 
“ but what — well — what good would that do ? 
God has given me brains; doesn’t he expect me 
to do the best I can with them?” 

“O Tom, you know better than that. You 
know he has told you to ask help of him always ; 
and hasn’t he promised to even give words when 
they are needed ? Why, it’s his meeting, Tom, 
not yours ; and he certainly doesn’t want it to 
be an uninteresting one. He would like to have 
it such as will reach the hotel strangers as much 
as you would. You ask him now, and I will run 
home and pray about it too; ” and she started 
toward the door. 

“ No; wait, Helen ! ” he said, rising quickly, and 
catching her hand to detain her. “ You stay here 
and pray. Let us pray together. We are not 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 239 

afraid of each other ; and we can claim the promise 
that * If two of you shall agree on earth as touch¬ 
ing anything that they shall ask, it shall be done,’ 
you know ; ” and he led her over to the sofa, where 
they both knelt and opened their hearts to God 
about the meeting that night. 

As they arose, Tom said, “ Now, Helen, you 
must stay and help me get ready ; ” and so through 
the Sunday afternoon they studied. Papers and 
books were brought out ; the missionary news 
columns were carefully looked over. The two 
young people grew quite excited over their work 
as the time went by and the hour of the meeting 
drew nearer. 

“ My, I wish I had a whole week to get ready 
in ! ” exclaimed Tom at last, as he threw down 
the pile of papers he had been looking through, 
and reached over to the table for his Bible. 

“ But you have enough items now that are 
interesting, Tom,” said his cousin. 

“Yes, enough, perhaps,” admitted Tom; “but 
I would have liked to give them out to the mem¬ 
bers early in the week, and they would have been 
thinking about it, and have had a little word ready 
to add. It would have been a great deal better.” 

“ And some of them would have been praying 
for the success of the meeting, too, perhaps, if 
their special attention had been called to it, 
added Helen gently. 

“ Perhaps,” said Tom ; “ and, after all, that’s the 
secret of a good meeting, I believe. But we 


240 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 




must have some Bible now,” and he plunged into 
his study of that. What a whirl he felt himself in 
then ! Bible enough there was on the subject of 
missions to supply material for unnumbered meet¬ 
ings. Tom began to wonder why he had never 
discovered it before. What theme should he 
take ? The thought of Christian giving ? Shin¬ 
ing as lights in a dark world ? Witnessing for 
Christ? Helping Christ’s kingdom to come? 
There were verses and verses, and they all rushed 
in upon him at once, and bewildered him. 

“ Helen,” he said in desperation, “there won’t 
be time for any items from the papers, as far as I 
can see ; the Bible has too much to say about it. 
I had no idea this subject was so rich.” 

Helen looked up with flushed cheeks and shin¬ 
ing eyes. 

“ O Tom ! isn’t it grand ? We might have a mis¬ 
sionary meeting every week for a year, and then 
not exhaust the subject. We shall just have to go 
over these bits we have cut from the paper, and 
drop out all but two or three of the very best, and 
that will leave room for more Bible.” 

“ Yes ; but Helen, what shall I do about select¬ 
ing a passage to read ? If I begin, I can’t find a 
place to stop.” 

“ Take the grandest one you can find, the one 
that will suggest the greatest number of other 
passages, and at the same time be the one that 
others would be the least likely to select,” an¬ 
swered Helen. 


AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 


24I 


u 


The twilight found them still at work, but with 
more hopeful hearts than at first. A very few 
slips of neatly written paper represented their 
work that afternoon. On the papers were some 
items of interest concerning mission-work, and a 
few carefully selected texts of Scripture, which 
the careless searcher would not be likely to find, 
these to be handed to one or two timid members 
who never knew what to say, especially on the 
subject of missions. Helen and Tom had planned 
to just which ones they should be handed, and had 
made the most of the material that they knew 
would probably be found in the meeting. 

“ There’s Albert,” said Tom; “ no need to hand 
him anything ; he’ll be sure to have something 
good to say, even if the subject of the meeting 
should be, ‘ How to build church steeples.’ ” 

“Yes,” said Helen, “and so will Mary Elder; 
and I sometimes think that those two help more 
than any other two in our society, because what 
they say always makes one feel as if they lived 
very near to Jesus.” 

By and by the bell began to toll, and Tom and 
Helen walked down the street toward the church 
side by side. They were quiet now. They had 
just come from their own rooms, where each had 
spent a few minutes in earnest prayer for a bless¬ 
ing on the meeting; and as they entered the 
pleasant chapel, they breathed one more word of 
petition. 

The room was filling rapidly already, and many 


242 “AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 

strangers were among the number. The town was 
a small winter resort in the South, and this was the 
season of year when tourists were most numerous. 

“ Oh, isn’t it just an awful pity that this is a 
missionary meeting ? ” whispered Clara Horton to 
another earnest follower of Jesus Christ. “Just 
see all these strangers, and they will be sure not 
to be interested. There goes that man who came 
in a private car three days ago. He stops at the 
hotel, and is very rich. They say he scarcely ever 
goes to church. I wonder what brought him. I 
didn’t think the hotel committee would hardly 
dare send one of their invitations to him. He 
looks scornful. I just know he’ll make all sorts 
of fun. It’s too bad that it isn’t a consecration 
meeting, or anything else but missionary night.” 

“Yes, it is a pity,” assented her friend, glan¬ 
cing in the direction of the haughty-looking, hand¬ 
some old man who had been seated well up toward 
the front. “ It’s queer he cared to come to a 
young people’s meeting, isn’t it ? What a pity he 
couldn’t have been here last week ! We had such 
a good meeting then ! ” 

The meeting was opened by singing ; and the 
children of the heavenly Father who supposed 
themselves so wise stopped whispering to sing, — 

“There’s a work for me, and a work for you, 

Something for each of us now to do.” 

They sung the words without thinking much 
what they were. It was an old hymn. Tom had 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 243 

hesitated when he selected it, but it seemed to fit 
so entirely into his thoughts that he could not but 
use it. His prayer that followed the hymn was 
one of personal consecration and of earnest plead¬ 
ing for the presence of Jesus in the room that 
evening; and the sharp old man eyed the young 
leader intently as he gave out another hymn, 
“One more day’s work for Jesus,” and sat down 
to turn over the leaves of his Bible a moment. 

Tom read only two verses, after all, from the 
many that he had found. They were these : 
“The God of our fathers hath chosen thee, that 
thou shouldest know his will, and see that just 
One, and shouldest hear the voice of his mouth. 
For thou shalt be his witness unto all men of 
what thou hast seen and heard.” 

He said but few words himself. His thought 
was that each one of the members of that so¬ 
ciety was chosen of God as a missionary to do 
some special work, even though it might be but 
small. 

“ I have asked Miss Gladden to sing us an old 
song that illustrates this thought,” he said in con¬ 
clusion, as he nodded to the young lady at the 
organ. 

It was not a wonderful voice that sang the 
words ; but it was sweet and clear, and every word 
was spoken with a distinctness that brought it 
home to each heart listening : — 

“ Hark, the voice of Jesus calling, 

‘ Who will go and work to-day? ’ ” 


244 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 


t> 


The sharp eyes of the old man watched the 
singer’s face as she sung, and he cleared his 
throat several times at the close. The room was 
very still, hushed by the thought of the song, 
when Tom said, “ Let us have a good many short 
prayers. John Raymond, will you lead us ? ” and 
immediately every head was bowed. 

Oh, they were earnest Christian Endeavorers, 
every one of them! only they were not used to 
carrying their consecration into their missionary 
meetings. But now every heart was lifted up for 
a blessing, and they had all forgotten that the 
name of this was a missionary meeting. There 
followed in quick succession many heartfelt sen¬ 
tences of pleading for blessing, of earnest con¬ 
secration, and some even breathing the spirit 
of the answer to the Master’s call, “Here am 
I, Lord; send me, if thou hast aught for me 
to do.” 

“ Let us sing one verse,” said Tom, when there 
came a pause, and they sung : — 

“ If once all the lamps that are lighted 
Should steadily blaze in a line, 

Wide over the land and the ocean, 

What a girdle of glory would shine! 

How all the dark places would brighten! 

How the mists would roll up and away! 

How the earth would laugh out in her gladness, 

To hail the millennial day ! 

Say, is your lamp burning, my brother? 

I pray you, look quickly and see; 

For if it were burning, then surely 

Some beam would fall brightly on me.” 


“an old missionary meeting.” 245 

“ The verse that we have just sung,” said a 
young girl, “ reminds me of what a returned mis¬ 
sionary once told me. She said that she had al¬ 
ways taught her little girl, who had been born in 
Turkey, and who had never been to this country, 
that America was a Christian land ; and the little 
girl, without her knowledge, had formed the idea 
that every one who lived here belonged to Jesus 
Christ and served him. When they brought her 
here she was about seven years old. One day her 
mother took her out in the street of a city, and 
in passing some men she heard them swear. The 
little girl stood looking after them sorrowfully, 
and then said to her mother, ‘ Mamma, I feel sick.’ 
Her mother took her home as quickly as possible, 
and after she felt better questioned her as to what 
had happened that made her feel so all in a min¬ 
ute ; for the mother thought her symptoms indi¬ 
cated that she had had a shock of some sort. ‘ O 
mamma,’ she answered, ‘ you told me this was a 
Christian land, where everybody loved Jesus ; and 
I heard some men use God’s name in the way the 
bad men over in Turkey used to do.” The little 
trusting heart had evidently been shocked by find¬ 
ing that in this land where every one knows about 
Jesus, not all were followers of him. If we would 
only, all of us whose lamps are lighted, go to work 
and keep our lights bright, might we not make a 
difference in this country, so that when those from 
lands that do not honor our God come over here, 
they will find that this is truly a Christian land ? 


246 “AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 

There is indeed much work left here for mission¬ 
aries to do.” 

“ I have been thinking,” said one of the young 
men, standing up and facing the roomful of peo¬ 
ple, “while the sweet song was being sung to us, 
of Miss Havergal’s pogm : — 

“ In God’s great field of labor 
All work is not the same; 

He hath a service for each one 
Who loves his holy name. 

And you to whom the secrets 
Of all sweet sounds are known, 

Rise up, for he hath called you 
To a mission of your own.” 

Said Helen : “ I have been interested in reading 
about a Christian Endeavor Society in a foreign 
land. It is in a mission boarding-school, and is 
formed of young men and women who have known 
Jesus Christ but a short time, most of them. 
They are very poor, as the mission board can 
appropriate but little to the needs of the school; 
and there are constantly scholars wishing to enter 
the school who cannot be allowed to do so, because 
there is no money to pay for even the barest 
necessities of life. The boys of the school go 
out to sell papers and such things on Saturdays, 
and so are able to earn a few cents to help along; 
but in that country it would be a disgrace for 
the girls to do the same, so they have very few 
ways of earning any money for themselves. There 
came a young man to the school one day, a friend 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING/’ 247 

of some of the other students, and begged to 
be allowed to enter as a pupil; but the teachers 
sadly shook their heads, saying, 4 We cannot allow 
it. We have no money to feed you, and nothing 
with which to buy books for you, and we cannot 
afford to let you enter without paying the small 
tuition that is necessary to keep the school run¬ 
ning.’ The young man turned sadly away; but 
some of the scholars got together and talked it 
over, and it was brought up in their Christian 
Endeavor meeting. The result was that the 
whole society went to the teachers, and said, 
“We have decided that we will give up our meat 
on Fridays (they were so poor they could not 
afford to have meat but once a week) if you 
will take the money that buys the meat for us, 
and use it towards paying for this poor boy 
who wants to learn about Jesus Christ.’ They 
were allowed to do so. Then the boys each 
gave what money they could earn in selling their 
papers, gladly sacrificing the little comforts they 
had been able thus to procure for themselves. 
But the girls said, 4 What can we do? We cannot 
go out to sell things.’ They got together, and 
talked the matter over, and decided that they 
would go without their meals on one day out of 
every week if the money that supplied the table 
for that day could be used for the poor boy. It 
seemed to me, after reading that true story, that 
we in our society knew nothing at all about sacri¬ 
ficing for missions .; that the poor heathen Chris- 


248 “AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 

tian Endeavorers have gone way ahead of us. If 
they can do so much, shall we hesitate over giving 
up some luxury ? ” 

This seemed to touch many hearts, and brought 
out other items and thoughts. 

“Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen 
you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring 
forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: 
that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my 
name, he may give it you,” recited another mem¬ 
ber, adding, “My heavenly Father has frequently 
comforted me with that verse, reminding me 
that it is not my work, after all, that I am doing, 
but his, for which he has chosen me, and that 
however dark the way may seem, and however 
my plans may have come to naught, yet I have 
ever the assurance that the fruit shall remain ; and, 
with that promise that whatever I shall ask of the 
Father shall be given, why need I doubt and grow 
discomfited when my plans for doing his work 
seem for a time to fail ? I want, as my bless¬ 
ing from this meeting, to get more faith in his 
service, and less trust in myself.” 

When the hour was over it was a surprise to 
all. 

“ We have had a good meeting ! ” exclaimed one 
and another, as they looked into each other’s as¬ 
tonished eyes at the close, and shook hands with 
the warm clasp that they always used when their 
hearts had been touched. 

But it was the haughty old man in the front 


249 


“AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING.” 

seat who gave the final surprise to the little 
society, and started its enthusiasm for a new era 
of missionary meetings. He stepped up to Tom 
as soon as the benediction had been repeated, and 
laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder, while the other 
hand left in that amazed young man’s a roll of 
bills. 

“ Give that to your treasurer for the missionary 
cause,” he said, and hastened away before Tom 
had time to frame fit words of thanks. 

Fifty dollars all at once to go into their mission¬ 
ary fund ! It was more than this little society had 
dreamed of giving for years yet. They were poor, 
and for the most part the money came in slowly 
and in very small quantities. They gathered in a 
group about Tom, looking with reverence at the 
bills. It seemed to them a material sign that 
the Lord had truly been with them that night 
and blessed them; and those few who always 
stayed a few moments to talk things over after 
the others were gone, went home with the feeling 
that they could never have another cold, dry, 
statistical missionary meeting again, 
f “ Helen,” said Tom, as he reached out his hand 
to relieve her of her Bible and hymn-book, on their 
way home, “this has been a wonderful evening to 
me, and I believe it is all owing to you. The 
Lord put it into your heart to suggest the pray¬ 
ing. I do believe that has been the matter with 
all our meetings. There has not been enough of 
prayer beforehand, and in the meeting too. I 


250 


AN OLD MISSIONARY MEETING. 


tt 


mean to do differently about that hereafter. That 
is the secret of success in Christian work, after 
all, — prayer. It has helped us all this time, and 
I shouldn’t wonder at all if the old man felt that 
he had a blessing too. Prayer is a wonderful 
thing.” 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 



HEY were on their way home from a Chris- 


JL tian Endeavor sociable, half a dozen of 
them, when the idea was first mentioned; and this 
was how it begun. 

“What are we going to do for Christmas as a 
society?” asked Jessie. “I wish we could think 
of something new and delightful.” 

“So do I,” chimed in Kittie. “We never have 
done anything but just join with the Sunday- 
school in having a Christmas-tree. I’m tired of 
trees, for my part, though I suppose the little 
children like them. But there is such a lot of 
work, and not much to show for it afterward. We 
get all tired out fixing dolls, and deciding which 
child shall have ‘ Robinson Crusoe/ or which 
ought to have a ball. Then the children are often 
disappointed at what they receive, and the church 
is covered with popcorn and mashed candies, and 
you can’t go there to service for a week or two 
afterwards without finding an old nut or a gum- 
drop hiding somewhere under your seat, no matter 
how hard you sweep. I worked like a slave for 
three hours last year, helping to sweep the church 



25 2 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


the day afterwards, and then kept finding stray 
candies and bits of gold paper for a month.” 

“You might have a fish-pond,” suggested Fred 
Hall. 

“O Fred, don’t!” groaned Jessie. “We want 
something new that we’ve never tried before. 
Fish-ponds are as old as the hills; and so are old 
women who lived in a shoe, and had so many chil¬ 
dren they didn’t know what to do. Besides, I 
never did think those things were suitable for the 
church ; and they make as much muss and work, 
and aren’t nearly so dignified, as a tree.” 

“ I’m squelched, Jessie,” laughed Fred ; “and I 
retire from making any further suggestion.” 

“ I wish we had the custom of singing Christ¬ 
mas carols in this country; I think it is so 
pretty,” said Myrtle Brown. 

“That’s an idea!” exclaimed Jessie. *“We 
might sing some. Wouldn’t that be interest- 
ing ? ” 

“I should like to know if that isn’t 4 old as the 
hills,’ as you termed it, madam ? ” said Fred. 

They all laughed, of course, and tried to explain 
to Fred the difference; and when the hubbub had 
somewhat subsided, Myrtle put in again, — 

“We tried it once on a small scale, my three 
cousins and I. We were up in the country for 
the holidays; and we stole out of the house before 
any one was awake, when it was scarcely light, 
and sung under the windows. It was a great deal 
of fun, and they said it sounded very sweet. I 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 253 

should think it might do good if we chose the 
right carols.” 

“It’s just the thing!” exclaimed Jessie; “let’s 
do it. We could have two or three bands of 
singers, and divide the town, each band taking a 
district. I’ve heard of great good done through 
singing. We might reach some in that way that 
we have not been able to reach in any other. 
Who are we here, anyway ? I’m chairman of 
the social committee ; I shouldn’t wonder if such 
things came among our duties. Myrtle, you and 
Kittie and Frank are all ‘socials.’ We’re all here 
but Truman. Harold, you’re chairman of the Sun¬ 
day-school committee, aren’t you ? And Fred” — 

“Only your humble president,” put in Fred 
before Jessie could finish ; “ and I’ll try to forget 
my feelings and do anything that’s expected of 
me.” 

They grew very eager with their laughing and 
talking. All were agreed that the plan was at 
least interesting. Each knew some pretty carol 
that he would like to have sung, and each had 
some suggestion. 

“ What’ll you do with all the money we’ve been 
putting aside for a Christmas entertainment ? 
You know we decided last Christmas to save 
some each month for Christmas, so that when the 
time came we would not have to run all over town, 
and use the children’s collections, which they had 
been supposed to give for the heathen, in order to 
buy them dolls and kites and books and things. 


254 SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 

I shouldn’t wonder if the youngsters would be dis¬ 
appointed too.” This was Harold’s contribution 
to the conversation. 

“ We might take the presents along, and tie 
them to the door-knobs,” suggested Frank. 

“ That’s a good thought,” said Jessie, amid the 
laughter that followed this proposal. 

“But, Jessie,” said Myrtle, “we couldn’t get 
enough things to go around, and some would be 
disappointed.” 

“Why, Myrtle, I’m not so sure of that,” she 
responded seriously. “ It wouldn’t do for us to 
sing under the windows of any but our own 
church people, or of those who belonged to no 
church, and are not being got hold ot by any 
other, because the other two churches would be 
sure to think we were proselyting ; and I should 
think we might get together enough things to go 
respectably around among the people who legiti¬ 
mately belong to our society. I don’t mean mem¬ 
bers merely of the society and church, but people 
whom we ought to be able to get hold of, and have 
not been able to reach heretofore. We could at 
least leave a Christmas card at each door.” 

“That would be beautiful; but we should have 
to keep it a grand secret from those we were to 
sing to,” said Myrtle. 

“ Let’s go in and see if Dr. Clifton likes the 
idea. We can’t do anything without his approval, 
and I can’t wait until morning. I want to dream 
out more plans,” said Jessie. “Isn’t it good that 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 255 

the sociable was so far away to-night? We have 
things in really quite a presentable shape to talk 
about.” 

“I’m afraid it’s too late to-night, Jessie,” sug¬ 
gested Kitty prudently. But just then they 
came to the pastor’s gate, and found him standing 
there himself, bidding good-night to a gentleman. 

“ O Dr. Clifton ! may we come in and tell you a 
new plan, and see if it’s worth anything? It will 
not take long, and we can hardly wait till morn¬ 
ing,” exclaimed Jessie eagerly. 

“Certainly, certainly; come in, friends. I shall 
be only too glad to hear it. I can’t wait until 
morning myself; I’m all curiosity,” said the 
genial old minister. 

Of course he approved the plan ; and it was with 
faces full of a delightful secret that they once 
more took their way home. 

It was near the last of November, and there 
were many things to be done; but the workers 
were all eagerness. The president called a meet¬ 
ing of the society in haste, and stated to them 
that the social committee had a plan for Christ¬ 
mas which, in order to be carried out to perfec¬ 
tion, must be kept a secret from all except those 
whom they should call to their aid. He further 
said that the pastor knew and approved it, and 
that the committee would like to be authorized to 
go forward and carry out their plans. The chair¬ 
man of the committee then stated that a part of 
their plan was to have the usual amount of money 


256 SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 

spent in gifts, and that they should like to be 
allowed to use the sum that had been set apart 
for that purpose. 

The question having been carried by vote, the 
chairman said that they should need the assist¬ 
ance of every member in the carrying out of their 
project, and that, as they wanted to begin work at 
once, they would ask the following members to go 
to the different Bible-class rooms as they were 
called. He then read the names in groups of 
five, six, or seven, assigning each group to a sepa¬ 
rate class-room of the church. Each one of these 
groups was presided over by some one who had 
previously been instructed. All were soon at 
work. The strictest secrecy was enjoined upon 
the carollers, who commenced practising at once. 

The social committee, with a few others, had 
worked hard before this meeting, planning which 
members should be in the different groups, and 
dividing the town into districts, that no time 
might be lost if their plan was accepted. There 
was much to be done yet. A large calling com¬ 
mittee was started around to ascertain the num¬ 
ber of people in each house that they intended 
visiting, their ages, tastes, needs, and desires. 
They were to use every means possible to find out 
in what way they could make most useful the 
little money they had to spend. 

The pastor announced that the Christian En¬ 
deavor Society was preparing for a celebration at 
Christmas time, and would be glad of contribu- 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 25 / 

tions of turkeys, vegetables, groceries, dry goods, 
toys, or anything that usually goes to make up 
Christmas festivities; and that for the conven¬ 
ience of the contributors they would be visited by 
the committee some time during the week. 

The committees themselves were not to be told 
in what way the gifts were to be distributed until 
Christmas Eve. They rather enjoyed the mys¬ 
tery that hung about the affair ; and matters went 
on more smoothly than they had ever gone before, 
because every one, except the social committee, 
was in such absolutely blissful ignorance, that 
none could venture to demur at what was to be 
done and want it to be different. 

It had been arranged that on Christmas evening 
there should be held a Christmas service in the 
church. This being generally known, it was sup¬ 
posed that any festivities of the occasion would 
take place at that time; and so the mind of the 
town was soothed to rest about the matter. The 
character of this meeting was not known exactly. 
That had been placed in the hands of others. 

The time flew fast, as it always does when 
people have more than they know how to do. 
The night before Christmas arrived at last, and 
all the work was done. Baskets ticketed with the 
names of many people stood groaning with their 
heavy loads. There were turkeys and chickens 
and geese, rabbits and birds and beef; there 
were potatoes, Irish and sweet, cabbages, celery, 
cranberries, jellies, all the long list of things that 


258 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


make the best kind of a Christmas dinner. There 
were warm stockings and flannels and shawls, 
dress goods, some plain bits of finery, neat and 
pretty; toys, books, candy, nuts, popcorn, and 
Christmas cards. You could hardly mention a 
thing that ever has to do with Christmas that had 
not its representative in some one of those 
baskets. The committees went to their beds 
tired, but with happy hearts. They had been told 
the secret of the whole plan the night before; 
and with sealed lips and dancing eyes each one 
went home rejoicing. 

Several members were so burdened with the 
weight of their new secret that they were unable 
to sleep, and startled their respective families by 
lighting matches through the watches of the 
night, to see whether it was time to arise and 
begin, But nearly all the anxious parents were 
quieted to sleep at last ; and the beautiful, spark¬ 
ling Christmas night peacefully hastened its 
course, till at last the glittering stars, with their 
memories of a night long ago, began to pale, and 
the least faint streak of the Christmas morning 
appeared in the east. 

Then those young people arose in haste, and, 
cautiously donning the apparel that they had been 
careful to put in a convenient place the night 
before, slipped down the stairs, and out of their 
several doors, holding in their hands, and munch¬ 
ing by the way, the crackers that the leaders of 
the various choirs had insisted should be eaten 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


259 


before the work of the morning, or more strictly 
of the dawning, should be begun. It had been 
agreed that if any were late they should not be 
waited for, but the company should proceed to 
business exactly at the hour intended, and those 
who were late could follow and join them ; but so 
eager were all these workers^or the morning to 
come, that there were but two out of the whole 
number who were late, and those two arrived with 
their company before they had finished the first 
carol. 

“ Waken, Christian children; 

Up, and let us sing 
With glad hearts and voices 
Of our new-born King; 

Up, ’tis meet to welcome 
With a cheerful lay 
Christ, the King of glory, 

Born for us to-day» }i 

The clear voices rang out on the cold morning 
air, waking the sleepers to a hew, glad day, start¬ 
ling some from dreams of sorrows to remember 
what they had almost forgotten, the true meaning 
of Christmas Day. While the carollers sung, the 
committees, made up of those who could not sing 
(or who thought they could not), deftly selected the 
turkey, or the dolls, or the Christmas cards, one 
or all, as the case might be, and tied them fast 
to the door-knob, making ready for the next house 
as the singers finished their verse and moved on. 

At each house where they sung, in addition to 
the gifts, there was left a small envelope directed 


26 o 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


to the householder, and containing a cordial in¬ 
vitation to him to attend, with his family, the 
meeting to be held that evening in the church ; 
and it was called a “ Christmas praise service.” 
At the top of the card was printed, “ Peace on 
earth, good will to men,” and below the invitation 
these words, “For unto you is born this day a 
Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” 

Some poor souls wakened to hear the music 
who really felt for a moment that they must be in 
heaven, so sweetly did it ring out. 

“ This is the winter morn 
Our Saviour Christ was born, 

Who left the realms of endless day 
To take our sins away. 

Have ye no carol for the Lord, 

To sing his love, his love abroad? 

Have ye no carol for the Lord, 

To sing his love, his love abroad? 

Hosanna! From all our hearts we raise, 

Hosanna, Hosanna! And make our lives his praise. 


It came to the houses of the rich, as well as the 
poor, this story sweet and old. There had been 
no respecting of persons that day. There were 
dainty cards with sprays of lovely flowers or bits * 
of landscape and a sweet Bible verse for some, 
and there were a few copies of Professor Drum¬ 
mond’s little white books, left where it was 
thought they might do good. The committee had 
taken great care in selecting and assigning gifts, 
and had really shown remarkable tact. There 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


26 l 


were some large houses where money indeed 
was, but where love had been lacking long since, 
and where there had not been a Christmas gift 
in many a day. The gifts were gratefully re¬ 
ceived, how gratefully the society never knew in 
all cases, though they heard much from that 
Christmas Day in after days and years. 

And the meeting that night ? Why, of course, 
not everybody that was invited came, but many 
did. The church was crowded to overflowing. 
There was not even standing-room left, despite 
the fact that in the two other churches of the 
town there were Christmas-trees at the same 
hour. 

After the meeting had been opened by prayer, 
and singing of the good old Christmas hymn, 

“ While shepherds watched their flocks by night,” 

there were several rare Christmas solos, an ex¬ 
quisite recitation appropriate to the evening, and 
the reading of a short, touching story. Then an 
invitation was given for all to take part in the 
meeting who felt that they had anything to be 
thankful for. Five minutes were given to the re¬ 
citation of Bible verses about the Prince of peace 
and King of glory, and Christmas and praise. 
How the verses came from all over the house! 
The strangers looked on in astonishment, some of 
them taking part. It had not seemed to them 
that there could be so many wonderful verses in 
the whole of the Bible. And then, in still more 


262 


SOME CAROLS FOR THE LORD. 


wonder, they bowed their heads and heard from 
many lips short sentences of prayer filled with 
praise to God and of pleading for forgiveness and 
consecration. There was time for a few words of 
testimony before they closed ; and the testimonies 
came from all over the house again, and especially 
from those who had been benefited by the visits 
of the young workers in the morning. 

“It’s been the best Christmas we ever spent!” 
exclaimed the young people as they went home, 
still feeling the pressure of gratitude from many 
hands. “ They’ll come again ; I know they will.” 

And they did. 


“BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES.” 


I T was late, and Nellie Beverly was tired. It 
was not to be supposed that she would feel 
much like reading her Bible; and yet there in the 
frame of her mirror, staring at her as she reached 
out her hand to turn off the gas, was her Chris¬ 
tian Endeavor pledge. Its words, “to pray and 
to read the Bible every day,” reminded her now 
that she had failed to keep her promise for that 
day, and, indeed, for the week before. The 
thought arrested her motion, and made her reach, 
instead, for her Bible that lay on its little stand 
by the dressing-table. It was trying, this pledge, 
always bringing her up standing with its solemn 
phrases. She drew her brows together as she 
opened the Bible at random, intending to catch 
at a verse anywhere in order to satisfy her con¬ 
science. She had been one of those in her so¬ 
ciety who had objected to the good old iron-clad 
pledge ; and, when she found it was inevitable, had 
argued for some time that the sentence about Bi- 
ble-reading should be left out, on the ground that 
there were often times when it was impossible, or 
at least very inconvenient, to read the Bible every 
263 



264 ‘‘because of the pharisees.” 

day, as when one was on a long journey, for in¬ 
stance. When that arrangement had failed, she 
had even parleyed with herself as to whether she 
would sign the pledge at all. It had ended in her 
finally signing; but the sight of that pledge-card 
always gave her an uncomfortable feeling lest she 
might not be living up to her vows. 

Why was it that the Bible opened just where it 
did ? She was not in the least superstitious, at 
least not about religion, though there had been 
occasions when it had marred her pleasure to 
make one of thirteen at the table, and she never 
counted the carriages at a funeral, and always 
took pains to see the new moon over her right 
shoulder. But she was not looking for any special 
word to be given that night, as she hurriedly 
scanned the pages with sleepy eyes to find a 
verse that looked short. 

Her thoughts had been busy, too, even as she 
opened her Bible, with the occurrences of the 
evening. She had been taking part in an enter¬ 
tainment arranged by the social committee of 
their Christian Endeavor Society. Over in one 
corner of her room now was a large valise, which 
contained her different costumes and the many lit¬ 
tle things that it had been necessary for her to 
carry to the hall. Her parts had been difficult, 
and she had done well. Every one said so; and, 
indeed, she knew it herself without being told. 
She had been obliged to pose for several minutes 
in a difficult attitude, and had been applauded for 


BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES. 


265 


a 


the beauty and grace of the position, as well as for 
the steadiness of nerve and muscle shown. The 
classical costume she had worn was becoming, and 
there had been many admiring glances cast at her, 
in addition to more openly expressed admiration 
and showers of compliments given her. Mrs. 
Elihu Barker had offered to take her home in her 
carriage too; and the handsome young son, who 
had just returned from a German university, had 
opened the carriage door, helping her in, and seat¬ 
ing himself beside her for the homeward ride. 
Her eyes shone with pleasure as she thought of 
his elegant compliments; she even felt a little 
pity for the other girls who had not enjoyed this 
distinction. To be sure, young Mr. Barker had 
sneered somewhat at the Christian Endeavor So¬ 
ciety and its prayer-meetings, and a few of his 
jokes and gracefully told stories had verged a lit¬ 
tle too much on the sacred to be altogether pleas¬ 
ing to this young woman who had named the 
name of the Lord and called herself his child. 
Nevertheless, she had laughed, for the jokes were 
exceedingly funny ; and a young man who had 
spent so many years abroad was not expected to 
have exactly the same strict views of everything 
that were held here at home. He was very nice, 
and he had admired her. Vistas of pleasures 
seemed opening before her. 

But what was this that her eyes were reading? 
“ For they loved the praise of men more than the 
praise of God.” Nellie felt startled as she read 


266 


u BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES. 


the words once more. How very strange for her 
to have opened to that verse! Did God mean to 
reprove her ? She had been thinking a good deal 
about herself during the last few weeks ; and much 
time and expense had been put upon her prepa¬ 
rations for the entertainment, in order that she 
might gain this “praise of men.” It was true 
that she had been trying to make the entertain¬ 
ment a success for the sake of the society and 
to give pleasure to others; but really in her heart 
these things had been secondary, and her main 
thought had been, How shall I dress and act and 
pose and sing so as to excite the greatest amount 
of admiration ? This was a rather ugly verse to 
pillow her head upon for the night. She liked to 
sink into sleep with the feeling that she had her 
heavenly Father’s blessing; and this verse gave 
her an uncomfortable feeling, as if he were not 
altogether pleased with her. It seemed as if he 
had spoken the words in her ear. What did the 
verse mean, anyway ? She did not remember 
ever to have seen it before. Who was it that 
loved to be praised so much ? She read the verse 
before : “ Nevertheless, among the chief rulers also 
many believed on him; but because of the Phar¬ 
isees they did not confess him, lest they should 
be put out of the synagogue ; for they loved the 
praise of men more than the praise of God.” 

With some impatience she ran her eye down 
the page to find, if she could, a pleasanter verse; 
and there, a little farther on, stood out the one 


BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES. 


2 67 


(< 


that she had read in the prayer-meeting last week, 
outlined in pencil that she might easily distinguish 
it then : “For I have given you an example, that 
ye should do as I have done to you.” 

Somehow the two verses had linked themselves 
together inseparably. This last one reminded her 
of how Christ had lived and died for her sake, of 
how he had borne shame, and how, when he was 
reviled, he opened not his mouth. The whole 
Book of Isaiah and all of the Gospels stood up 
with testimony for him in an instant; and there, on 
the other hand, was pictured out in her mind her 
own behavior that evening, and all the thoughts 
and ambitions that had been in her mind. These 
thoughts did not please her, but they would come. 
She tried to argue with herself that she had not 
been so very wrong or vain, and that Mr. Barker 
was not a Pharisee, but a member of the church — 
at least, he had been before he went abroad. But 
she was obliged to go back to those first verses 
once more. How would it sound if a Bible of to¬ 
day were to be written, and the stories of the dis¬ 
ciples of to-day were put down ? Would this story 
of her own behavior read something like this, 
she wondered: “Nellie Beverly also believed on 
Christ; but because of Harold Barker and his set 
she did not confess him, lest she should be put 
out of society ; for she loved the praise of men 
more than the praise of God ” ? 

Nellie shivered at this. She had not intended 
to read all that into the Bible for her own benefit. 


268 


“because of the pharisees.” 


Her mind had gone on in spite of her, and put 
the hateful thought into Bible phraseology. She 
shut the book hastily, and turned the gas out with 
a click, kneeling beside her bed, as was her cus¬ 
tom. But her face was burning with shame as 
she hid it in her hands and tried to utter a feeble 
word or two of prayer. 

She had thought but a few minutes before that 
it would not take her long to be asleep that night; 
but when she laid her head down, after praying, it 
was not to sleep for a long time. She had much 
thinking to do. She must examine into her life, 
and decide what the future should be. She was 
suddenly brought face to face with her own vows, 
solemnly made and carelessly broken, and she was 
resolved that there should be a change. Now 
that her eyes were once opened, it took but a few 
minutes to decide what changes must be made in 
order that she might have the praise of God rather 
than the praise of men. God himself seemed al¬ 
most to speak to her, and to show her clearly 
what her path ought to have been in the past. 

It was on the next day that young Mr. Barker 
called; and Nellie, with a quiet lifting of her 
heart in prayer for help that she might be worthy 
of her high calling, went down to receive him. ' It 
gave her a little flutter of pleasure as he handed 
her a note from his mother, begging her to read 
it and report her answer to him. The note was 
gracefully worded, saying that guests from a 
distant city were to be with them over Sunday, 


“BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES.” 269 

and that Mrs. Barker was desirous that her young 
friend should meet them ; and she wished also 
that they might hear her voice, which had de¬ 
lighted them all so much the evening before. 
Would Nellie give them the pleasure of her com¬ 
pany at tea on Sunday evening, and do them the 
favor to bring some of her music with her? It 
could be something suitable for Sunday, of course. 

There was an unmistakable glow of delight in 
Nellie’s eyes as she read this note. She had not 
expected to be taken right into intimacy in this 
delightful way by a family who moved in the high¬ 
est circles of society. She raised her eyes to 
Harold Barker, who, scarcely giving her time to 
read the note, had gone on to tell her how de¬ 
lighted his mother was with her voice. 

“And you should have heard the praise my 
uncle gave you, Miss Beverly,” he was saying. 
“He considers your voice really remarkable, and 
I assure you he is a judge.” 

Sweet words these were to the girl who had 
spent so much time and money on her voice. But 
suddenly, as if a voice had spoken in her ear, 
came the words, “ For they love the praise of men 
more than the praise of God.” 

Her face changed quickly. She heard no more 
of the handsomely turned sentences. All at once 
she became aware of a silence, following a ques¬ 
tion that had been asked her. She felt, rather 
than knew, that the question was with regard to 
her acceptance of the invitation. 


270 


“BECAUSE of the pharisees. 


II 


“ I am very sorry, Mr. Barker,” she stammered 
out. “ It would give me great pleasure to meet 
your mother’s guests, and to sing for them, but it 
is on Sunday night, you know.” 

He hastened to assure her that he understood that 
she was not in the habit of going out on Sunday 
socially, but this was merely among themselves, 
very quiet. His mother had spoken of that, and 
said that she was not sure that Miss Beverly might 
not have some scruples on that account, and that 
she would have asked her for some other evening 
but for the fact that the friends were to leave 
them early Monday morning, and that all the even¬ 
ings between this and that were fully occupied 
with other engagements. His mother was very 
anxious to have her come, and so, indeed, was he; 
and he hoped she would waive her objections for 
that time and come to them. 

Nellie was not used to arguingon such subjects. 
She looked down in troubled silence during this 
speech, almost ready to yield, when the words of 
the pledge-card came to her mind as they had 
looked, framed in her mirror, the night before. 
Was it the Master’s help that was given her 
through the wording of that pledge-card ? She 
gathered courage, and spoke once more, — 

“ Mr. Barker, it is impossible. Our Christian 
Endeavor meeting comes very soon after the 
time your mother has named as your tea hour.” 

“ Oh! ” said he, “ I was not aware that you were 
a member of that society ; ” and there was that in 


271 


“ BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES.” 

his tone that made Nellie remember all the bright 
sarcasms of the evening before with regard to the 
society. “ But, really, Miss Beverly,” more se¬ 
riously, “ I don’t suppose you are bound by iron¬ 
clad laws to attend that special meeting, are you ? 
Can you not forego the pleasures of your society 
for this once ? ” 

Her cheeks grew still redder as she answered 
quietly, “ I have promised, Mr. Barker; that is 
one of the pledges we make when we join the 
society, to attend the prayer-meetings. I wish 
your friends were to be here longer, for I should 
enjoy meeting them. I am very sorry.” 

“But are there no conditions, Miss Beverly?” 
he asked, with an impatient frown on his hand¬ 
some face. “ Surely, you are not bound so hope¬ 
lessly.” 

“ Yes, there are conditions,” she answered with 
a thoughtful, serious look; “ the pledge reads, 
‘ Unless hindered by some reason which I can 
conscientiously give to my Lord and Master.’ Do 
you think that he would accept my own pleasure 
as an excuse for my staying away from a meeting 
where he has promised to be ? ” 

Harold Barker was fairly embarrassed, and did 
not attempt any answer, but looked at her in utter 
amazement. Surely, this could not be the same 
young lady who laughed and joked with him last 
night! He could not but respect her the more, 
however. She did not look in the least like an 
‘‘enthusiast,” or a “fanatic,” or a “crank,” or any 


2J2 “ BECAUSE OF THE PHARISEES.” 

of those individuals whom he had scornfully de¬ 
nounced. This was a new type of girl, he decided, 
or else America had changed greatly during his 
stay abroad. Could it be possible that this Chris¬ 
tian Endeavor Society about which such a furore 
was being made was the cause of all this ? 

His call did not last much longer. There was 
nothing left for him to say upon the subject in 
which he was interested, and he did not know how 
to converse easily upon this new topic. 

Nellie Beverly sighed a little as she thought of 
all the pleasures that she had put away from her. 
Her chance for attending those delightful recep¬ 
tions that Mrs. Barker was said to give was entirely 
over. Nevertheless, she went about her morning 
duties with a joy in her heart such as she had not 
known before. Up in her room once more she 
read over her pledge-card, and smiled at the last 
sentence, remembering that the next Sabbath was 
the evening for the regular consecration meeting. 
That more than all other meetings she would not 
have wished to miss. How would it have sounded, 
thought Nellie, if she had sent word to the society 
that she was obliged to be away from the meeting 
in order to take tea with some delightful musical 
and literary people at Mrs. Barker’s. 

The next Sunday evening proved to be a 
beautiful one ; and the meeting was a solemn one, 
in which many pledged anew their lives and all to 
Christ. When Nellie Beverly’s name was called, 
she read the two verses that had so moved her a few 


“because of the pharisees.” 273 

evenings before, and added, “ I wish to learn to 
live for the praise of God, rather than the praise 
of men.” 

As she turned to lay aside her hymn-book at 
the close of the meeting, she saw Harold Barker 
just behind, watching her intently ; and as their 
eyes met, he gave her a grave, respectful bow. 
He had come to investigate. 




















' 















. , i 1 





















• 

























































“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED; 



HREE young men sat together one Sunday 


X afternoon in the reception room of a private 
boarding-house. The day was rainy and disagree¬ 
able, and at least two of the young men looked 
bored by the state of circumstances. They had 
read the morning paper through, yawned many 
times, and made all the remarks about the weather 
that they could think of. The third young man 
was a comparative stranger to the others. He 
was a young fellow with quiet manners and a 
frank, open face which commanded respect and 
invited friendship. Both Edward Burton and 
Charlie Stone felt a desire to know him better as 
they watched him seat himself by the window 
with his open book. That pleasant, firm mouth 
and those wisely merry eyes were interesting. 
They felt impelled to enter into conversation with 
him, and each searched his mind for a topic with 
which to begin. Edward Burton found it first, 
and began, “ Did you go out to see Bernhardt last 
evening, Murray ? ” 

“ No, I did not.” 

There seemed to be a quiet putting aside of the 



2 y 6 “for whom christ died.” 

subject in the tone of this answer, and Edward 
was quick enough to see that he had started out 
on a wrong line ; but Charlie was full of enthu¬ 
siasm the minute the subject was mentioned. 

“Oh, didn’t you go ? That’s too bad. You 
missed it. But perhaps you were there the night 
before ? It’s the finest thing of the season.” 

The mild, quiet eyes were raised again ; and the 
young man replied, “ I never attend the theatre.” 

There was none of the “ I-am-better-than-thou ” 
tone in this reply ; and therefore the young men 
did not feel as if a bombshell had exploded in 
their midst, making it desirable to close up the 
conversation as soon as possible and get out of 
the room, but rather experienced a feeling of won¬ 
der, and perhaps of a sort of envy, at this young 
acquaintance who could so composedly say that 
he never took part in what was to them so intense 
a pleasure, and almost a constant temptation. 

“ Don’t you ever go ? ” asked Edward. “ I 
know many people do not approve of Bernhardt. 
I don’t much myself. I just thought I’d go once. 
But there are good theatres, good, helpful plays, 
instructive, you know, and all that. Don’t you 
go to any theatres ? ” 

“ No,” was the pleasant answer ; “ I don’t go 
to any.” 

“ Well, I’m sure I wish you’d tell me why,” 
said Charlie. “ Of course there are bad theatres, 
but I don’t see what that has to do with the good 
ones. You might as well say you won’t read any 


“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED.” 277 

books at all because there are some bad ones writ¬ 
ten. That would cut you off from the Bible, don’t 
you see ? What’s the difference ? I’ve been to 
some theatres that did me a great deal of good. 
I have been to theatres all my life, and never got 
any harm from them that I could see. What’s 
your theory, anyway ? ” 

“ My theory is this,” answered the young man 
thus appealed to, “ the theatre, as an institution, 
is a bad thing. Its principal actors and actresses 
are people of known immoral character; the large 
majority of the plays enacted have at least objec¬ 
tionable portions, which is putting it very mildly. 
If you don’t believe that, study up the question 
and you’ll find it so. I have a little book up-stairs 
that you can read if. you like. It is called ‘ Plain 
Talks About the Theatre/ It is by Dr. Herrick 
Johnson, a man who knows what he is talking 
about ; and it contains some of the most tremen¬ 
dous facts I have ever found. It makes this a 
solemn question.” 

“ Well, but,” said Charlie, who had evidently 
been waiting impatiently for a chance to speak, 
“ what’s that got to do with the good ones ? I 
suppose there are bad ones, but I can’t see why 
that should affect the good ones. I think they 
are all right. I can’t see any harm in going to a 
theatre when it’s a good play.” 

“ For one thing,” answered young Murray 
quietly, “ the same management that on one, or 
two, or three nights in the week places upon its 


278 “FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED.” 

stage what is commonly called a good play, the 
other nights in the week places there something 
which you could not in decency listen to or ob¬ 
serve ” — 

“ Stay away then,” interrupted Charlie eagerly ; 
“ don’t you see, you’d only be patronizing the good 
ones, and showing the management that you would 
only uphold the good ones ? ” He finished with 
a triumphant flourish, as if he thought there was 
nothing left to be said. 

“ But,” said the other, smiling, “ your money 
goes to help along a management that is doing a 
business of death. What do you suppose it mat¬ 
ters to them what you pay them your money for ? 
They are willing you should choose Monday night 
instead of Tuesday. On Monday night they will 
take your money, and on Tuesday they will take 
the money of some poor soul who hasn’t your 
moral sense, who has perhaps seen you enter the 
same building the evening before, and knowing 
you to be a Christian, thinks your example one to 
be followed ; and it may be on Tuesday night 
there is something for him to see that will plant 
the seeds of eternal death in his soul.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Charlie carelessly, “ I can’t 
be looking out for every one else. If I take care 
of myself and see that I do what is right, I think 
I’ll be doing pretty well. If other people have a 
mind to go wrong, why, I can’t help it.” 

“ Can’t you ? Oughtn’t you to help it ? ” said 
the other young man, lifting those quiet gray eyes 


FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED. 


279 


<( 


to look searchingly at him. “ What will you do 
when God asks you, as he asked Cain, ‘ Where is 
thy brother ? ’ ? The Bible says that ‘ none of us 
liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself,’ and 
it tells us that ‘ we that are strong ought to bear 
the infirmities of the weak, and not to please our¬ 
selves,’ and 4 Let no man put a stumbling-block or 
an occasion to fall in his brother’s way.’ ” 

“ My ! You have them right at your tongue’s 
end, haven’t you ?” exclaimed Charlie admiringly. 

But Edward’s face was more serious. 

“ I never realized that there were so many 
verses of that sort in the Bible. Do you really 
think it ought to be taken so literally ? Haven’t 
the times changed a great deal, and people’s views 
grown broader ? If you reason in the way that 
you have done, that would set up a pretty high 
standard. Why, we couldn’t do a thing without 
stopping to think whether it was going to hurt 
some one! ” he said. 

“Yes,” said the young man, “I suppose times 
have changed some. We have theatres and dan¬ 
cing and card-playing and Sabbath observance, 
and a good many other things of that sort to 
think about now, instead of the question of eating 
meat that was offered to idols ; but I do not see 
how that changes the principle any. I suppose 
people’s views are growing broader ; but I do not 
see why that gives us any right to broaden the 
Bible rules. God himself said that the road that 
led to death was broad, and that many travelled in 


28 o 


“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED. 


>» 


it; and that the way of life was narrow, and there 
were few that found it. Keeping in mind that word 
of his, it seems to me a dangerous thing when we 
can look ahead of us and see the path growing 
broad. You and I are supposed to be in the 
‘ strait and narrow way,’ I believe ; ” and as he 
said this the look on his face was one of tender, 
brotherly friendship, that made his two compan¬ 
ions feel that they were honored by his acquaint¬ 
ance, and that it was their privilege to live on 
higher ground than that on which they had been 
living. 

“ As to the verses I quoted,” he went on, after 
pausing a moment, “there are scores of them. 
Listen; ” and he drew from his inner pocket a 
small pocket Bible, and turned over the leaves 
rapidly. “ ‘ It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to 
drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother 
stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak.’ ‘ But 
take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours 
become a stumblingblock to them that are weak. 

. . . And through thy knowledge shall the weak 
brother perish for whom Christ died ? But when 
ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their 
weak conscience, ye sin against Christ. Where¬ 
fore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will 
eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make 
my brother to offend.’ ” 

Charlie gave a prolonged, sober whistle. 

“ That’s putting it pretty strong, I must admit,” 
he said. “You seem to know all about that 


FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED.” 


28 l 


book. Wish I knew as much. You ought to be 
a minister.” 

“ I have been preaching quite a sermon, haven’t 
I ? ” he said. “ Well, you should not have started 
me off.” 

“ Oh, don’t stop ! ” said Edward ; “ I’m inter¬ 
ested. I’ve been troubled about the thing some¬ 
times myself. My father didn’t approve of it; 
but he never told me his reasons, and I couldn’t 
see that it ever did me any harm ; so I went. But 
now I can see that for the sake of the influence 
of the thing perhaps a Christian ought not to go. 
If that is so,—and I’m afraid it is, — why, I 
should be willing to give it up. I want to think 
a little more about it.” 

Charlie surveyed his friend with a quick, aston¬ 
ished expression; and perhaps there was mingled 
with the look a new touch of respect. It was 
something, in his estimation, to be able to give up 
pleasure for a principle. He did not quite under¬ 
stand the motive that prompted it, but he could 
appreciate the act. 

“ H’m ! ” said he at last. “ Well, I can’t say 
I’m ready for just that. It would be pretty tough 
for me to give up going to the theatre for the 
sake of some old fellow down on Scrogg’s Lane, 
if that’s where you locate the ‘ weak brother.’ I’d 
have to think a long time before I made up my 
mind to that, I’m afraid.” 

“You are both talking on the theory that it 
does no harm to you personally to go, aren’t you ? 


282 


“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED. 


>5 


Now, I don’t admit that, quite,” said young Mur¬ 
ray. “ I can’t see why you are not harming your¬ 
selves every time you pay out your money to an 
institution that is such a power in degrading the 
world and pulling down all moral standards. Why 
is it not an inevitable harm to yourself to allow 
yourself to become so fascinated with such a 
thing that you hesitate about giving it up for the 
sake of some other one ? It seems to me that it 
cannot fail to lead one farther from Christ. It 
certainly will not help on in the Christian life. 
Then, too, the majority of even what you call 
4 good plays ’ are poor trash as regards literature, 
and their code of honor is that of the world, and 
not of Christ’s followers. Their standards are 
worldly standards, and they hold up for approval 
deeds that belong to the world, — the world from 
which we are told to come out and be separate.” 

Edward was looking very thoughtful; but 
Charlie was ready to change the subject. It 
was pointing too near home for his comfort. 

“What do you think about dancing? I’m not 
so fond of it myself, but Ed, there, thinks there’s 
nothing like it. Still, I don’t see any harm in it.” 

“ I don’t dance,” answered young Murray 
promptly. 

“ Why not ? ” asked both men in a breath. 

“Well, you certainly know that the only possi¬ 
ble reason that can be urged against it is the fact 
that men and women dance together. You know 
that the world allows liberties in dancing that it 


“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED.” 283 

does not consider proper under any other circum¬ 
stances. Why is it that you do not walk up to 
any young lady you may care to, at an evening 
gathering, and place your arm about her waist, 
or hold her hand in yours for an indefinite length 
of time ? You don’t consider that the proper 
thing to do. Why is it right in dancing ? ” 

“ Oh, but of course we don’t approve of public 
dances where everybody comes ! ” Edward hastened 
to say. “ We only dance in the best society, at 
private houses.” 

“ What difference does that make ? Are not 
the men and women in the best society just as 
subject to temptation as the people who frequent 
public balls ? Why, it is said that some of the 
most degraded individuals in the world have come 
from the highest class of society, and many of 

them, according to their own confession, have 
been first led astray through the fascinations of 
dancing. Not the mere motion, for that is good 
exercise. You must know yourself that you have 
often been led to say, or to let your eyes say, 
much more than you really meant, when you were 
dancing. The touch of the hand, and the eyes so 
near to one another, — it is so easy to go on, and 
let the eyes speak. You call it harmless flirting, 
perhaps, and laugh about it. But you feel a 
pleasure in it that you would not feel if you 
were dancing with me, or your sister or your 
mother. That’s my objection to dancing. And 

then, even if you personally, and the ones in the 


284 


FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED. 


best society with whom you dance, were exempt 
from this temptation, there is the ‘ weak brother ’ 
for you to look out for still. He cannot dance in 
the ‘ best society,’ you know, nor in private houses. 
He dances with his own society. He says, ‘ That 
Christian dances ; why should not I ? ’ ” 

“ My, that weak brother again ! ” exclaimed 
Charlie carelessly. “ I should think he would 
get to be a terrible nuisance after a while.” 

“ I think perhaps he would,” answered the 
young man, “ if it were not for that added phrase, 

4 For whom Christ died.’ If he loved him enough 
to die for him, I surely ought to be able to give 
up something for his sake.” 

“ And cards ? ” asked Edward. 

“ It seems to me that is much the same. Of 
course you believe it is wrong to gamble. The 
games that you play probably do not require 
that. But there is the possible danger to yourself 
of the fascination of the game, which may lead 
you into gambling. And there is the ‘weak 
brother.’ He has been led to destruction many 
and many a time by those bits of pasteboard. 
You can’t tell who about you has an inherited 
tendency in that direction. The weak brother 
doesn’t always have his name written plainly 
upon him. He is everywhere. It seems to me 
that where a thing is known to have danger in 
it, we had better let it alone. Read Bishop Vin¬ 
cent’s little book, “ Better Not,” and see if you 
don’t agree with me. If I find a thing that has 


“FOR WHOM CHRIST DIED.” 285 

led many, any, souls to throw away their chances 
of eternal life, I think it is a thing for a Chris¬ 
tian to keep clear of. It makes pretty solemn 
business out of life.” 

The tea-bell broke the silence that followed 
these words. The afternoon was over. Young 
Murray felt half sorry that he had said as much 
as he had done. But he did not know how he 
could conscientiously have said less. 

Charlie Stone was the first to walk out at the 
door ; and as the other two followed him, Edward 
placed his hand detainingly upon Frank Murray’s 
arm, and said in a low tone, “ I thank you for 
what you have said this afternoon. I have never 
thought of these things in just that way. I think 
it will make some difference in my life.” 






“ LIVING EPISTLES.” 


T OM RUSHMORE was seated in the even¬ 
ing train, tapping his toe impatiently as 
he waited for the signal to start. He had been 
detained until this 6.30 train; and he was in a 
hurry to be home, for there was dinner to be 
eaten, and several little things to attend to, before 
evening service. He did not really see how he 
could spare the time to go to the meeting that 
evening, but he had promised that earnest-faced 
sister of the new minister that he would come. 
He was sorry now that he had done it. It was 
never wise to make promises ; but now that he 
had given his word he must keep it. 

Just then, with a burst of rather hilarious laugh¬ 
ter, there entered a group of young girls with 
books under their arms. They seemed to be bent 
on some sort of lark; for their spirits were out 
of all keeping with the amount of amusement on 
hand, so young Rushmore thought. He turned 
to look out of the window, thinking no more 
about them ; but lo ! here came more young peo¬ 
ple with the same kind of books under their arms, 
and behind them one or two older gentlemen and 
287 



288 


“LIVING epistles.” 


two ladies, who seemed to belong to the same 
group. 

He looked curiously at the book in the hand 
of a young man that stood talking just under his 
window. “ Gospel Hymns No. 6, Christian En¬ 
deavor Edition,” he read. It struck him as rather 
curious that a company of young people should 
be boarding the train on a week-night, with cop¬ 
ies of religious singing-books under their arms. 
Then he remembered that this must be the dele-, 
gation of Christian Endeavorers that was coming 
out to Brinton to hold that wonderful meeting 
that he had promised to attend. Now he would 
have a chance to study them beforehand, and see 
whether they were as extraordinary people as he 
had been led to suppose. 

A bevy of young people were on the back plat¬ 
form just behind him. There was a great deal 
of loud laughter, and some of them seemed to 
be uproarious. All at once, with an explosion of 
merriment, a young girl was pushed into the car. 
She was nicely, stylishly dressed, and had a 
pretty, refined face, which was hardly in keeping 
with her actions. 

She stumbled up the aisle of the car, calling 
aloud to her friends: “Come on, Mamie! Let’s 
get the best seats ! Here, Charlie, here’s a place ! 
Hurry! Quick ! before Fred gets here ; he’ll take 
everything there is going ! Here, Jennie, give 
me that peanut-bag. You selfish thing! you 
aren’t going to eat them all up, are you ? ” 


tl LIVING EPISTLES.” 


289 


The party had turned over a seat opposite Tom 
Rushmore; so he had opportunity to watch all 
that went on without being observed. Indeed, 
the entire car was treated to their conversation, 
whether they would or not, the tones were so 
loud. The young girl that had first come, or 
rather been pushed, into the car, and who he 
found was addressed as Fanny, seemed to be a sort 
of leader among them, though the others very 
readily followed, and some went farther than she 
after she had started. She had beautiful teeth, 
and showed the entire set whenever she laughed, 
which was nearly all the time. Just as the train 
started, several belated ones entered the other 
end of the car. 

“ Oh, there comes Will at last! ” said Miss 
Fanny, rising in her seat, and waving her hand¬ 
kerchief violently. “ I was afraid they'd get left; 
his sister is always behindhand with everything. 
Will, come down here! You can sit on the arm 
of Charlie’s seat,” she called from one end of 
the car to the other, in a voice that would have 
been very sweet if it had not been at so high 
a pitch, and so loud. 

Almost every one in the car but the young man 
addressed, looked around to the young woman 
that was making so much demonstration ; but 
he was looking for a seat, and neither saw nor 
heard her, strange to say. She was not to be 
thus balked in her purpose, with all those people 
looking at her too. She was not a bold girl, 


290 


“ LIVING EPISTLES.” 


only young and thoughtless ; but she walked — 
or maybe “ pranced ” would be a better word — 
up that aisle, took possession of the young man, 
and escorted him to their “crowd,” as she phrased 
it. 

Then the train started; and the merriment, and 
peanuts and taffy with which they had provided 
themselves without stint, ran high. Some very 
slangy jokes reached the ears of the young man 
across the aisle, and he curled his lip as he re¬ 
membered the words of the earnest-faced young 
woman that he had heard in the morning: “ They 
are very fine young people that have taken hold 
of this Christian Endeavor movement, Mr. Rush- 
more, and you ought to be numbered among 
them. Even if you do not feel that you can call 
yourself a Christian, you might become an asso¬ 
ciate member. I am sure you would enjoy the 
social part of it. And I am sure you cannot be 
with them long without seeing how much like 
Jesus Christ some of them are, and without learn¬ 
ing to want him for your own friend.” 

Tom Rushmore liked the minister’s sister; for 
one thing, because she always spoke out plainly 
what she had in her mind, instead of trying to 
honey-coat everything, and wheedle you into going 
somewhere for some other reason than the real 
one. He liked to have her say just that to him, 
to make him feel that, while he might enjoy the 
social part of these meetings, still, that was not 
the real object of her asking him to come, after 


291 


“LIVING EPISTLES.” 

all. It had been that feature of her request that 
had caused him to promise, even against his in¬ 
clination, to go to that meeting. He had a feel¬ 
ing that she had been fair and square with him, 
and that to be the same with her he would either 
have to do as she wished, or say plainly, “ I don’t 
want to have anything to do with this society, 
and I don’t want to learn to love Jesus;” and 
this he did not think it was exactly courteous to 
say. But he thought of it now, and felt sorry for 
her, as some sad, wise man might feel sorry for a 
poor deluded angel that had lost her way. These 
Christian Endeavorers were not what she thought 
them, after all. Well, it was just as he had sup¬ 
posed. 

Just at this point in his meditations the train 
slowed up at a station, and the words became dis¬ 
tinctly audible again. 

The young man called Will was addressing 
Miss Fanny. 

“ Say, Fanny ! I think you are a pretty hilarious 
crowd to be going to a religious meeting, aren’t 
you ? ” 

The young girl flushed prettily, and said, “ Did 
you suppose we had to be long-faced just because 
we belonged to the Christian Endeavor Society ? 
No, indeed! We believe in having a good time, 
don’t we, Mame ? ” 

Then they all giggled. 

“ Have some more taffy, Will; it’s good, ain’t 
it? ” went on Fanny. “This is a regular picnic, 


292 “ LIVING EPISTLES.” 

you know ; and we don’t have to act as we do at 
home. It isn’t Sunday, either.” 

“ What is it you are going to do to-night ? ” 
said the young man again, who seemed to wear no 
badge, and had no singing-book. 

“Do?” queried Fanny gayly. “We’re going 
down to convert those Brinton people. We’re 
missionaries, don’t you know ? I think it’s just 
delightful. They say these meetings do ever so 
much good. Lots of new members will join just 
on account of our coming out there to-night. 
Just wait till you’ve been to the meeting.” 

“I know one that won’t join,” murmured Tom 
Rushmore under his breath, with haughty scorn 
in his face, as he prepared to leave the train. 
“ However, I’ve promised to go, and I suppose it 
will disappoint Miss Bowman if I don’t ; but 
they’ve spoiled the meeting for me. Maybe it 
isn’t fair to judge them all by one or two, though 
there were a good many of them that were rather 
ill-behaved ; but perhaps they were the associate 
ones, and haven’t got converted yet themselves. 
I’ll go and see.” 

Gayly the merry party trooped down the shaded 
street of Brinton toward the pretty church, half- 
smothered in a grove of maples, while the young 
man that had been watching them went on his 
way to his home. 

“ They have grand societies in the city,” Miss 
Bowman had said, “ and are doing a great work. 
Ours is just started, and so of course we have not 


293 


“LIVING epistles.” 

done much yet; but a few of the most earnest 
ones from the city are coming out to-night to help 
us, to interest some of our young people, and to 
teach them how they do things.” 

“I’d just as soon my sister wouldn’t learn how 
they do things, if those are Christian Endeavor 
manners,” commented the young man as he 
thought of her words. 

It was a full hour afterward when he walked 
into the already qrowded church, and took a back 
seat, counting himself favored to get a seat any¬ 
where, as there were already many standing. 

Well, certainly the singing was something fine. 
He must say that in fairness. He had never 
heard such singing in Brinton church before. It 
sounded as if a whole choir of angels had sud¬ 
denly come down, and were bearing along the 
voices of the people, and swelling the melody with 
their own ecstatic music. He felt like joining 
in himself. Somebody handed him a leaflet with 
the songs printed on it, and he sang with the 
rest, — 

“ Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine; 

O what a foretaste of glory divine ! ” 


But that was only singing. Worldlings could 
sing. He could sing himself when there were 
plenty of other people with voices. 

The pastor of the church was asked to pray ; 
and he did so in earnest words and short. Tom, 
not being a Christian, did not feel himself called 


294 <C LIVING EPISTLES.” 

upon with the rest to bow his heart in prayer; 
and so he spent the time in listening to the clear- 
cut sentences woven together so well, and fraught 
with so much meaning, and was proud that the 
Brinton minister could compare with any city 
minister, even if he did not get so large a salary. 
In his heart was growing a great liking for this 
new minister, though not as yet for his calling. 

Then the president of the Brinton Christian 
Endeavor Society, a meek, shy boy, who was 
almost overcome with his position, essayed to 
speak a few awkward words of welcome, which 
were responded to in fitting words, well chosen 
and earnest, spoken by one of the elder young 
men that had kept in another car during the ride 
from the city; but Tom remembered having seen 
him behind the others as they came along the 
platform of the city station. 

“ Well, he knows his business, and speaks sen¬ 
sibly,” said the critic ; “ but then, he is not very 
young, and you can see by his face that he is 
sober-minded.” 

There followed several papers by the chairmen 
of different committees, giving their experiences 
in the best ways of working. 

“We will hear a little account of the Eighth 
Street lookout committee. They have been re¬ 
markably successful this winter in gathering in 
new members, especially active members; and 
I’m sure you’ll all be interested in hearing how 
they did it,” said the leader of the meeting. 


295 


“LIVING EPISTLES.” 

“Their chairman, Mr. Fred Pullman, promised 
to be here, but was detained at the last moment; 
but one of their members is here, Miss Fanny 
Welbourne, and she has kindly consented to tell 
us all about it.” 

A young girl rose from the centre of the house, 
from among a bevy of boys and girls. Tom 
Rushmore thought he saw something familiar 
about her. She was speaking in a clear, well-mod¬ 
ulated voice, which sounded sweet and womanly. 
He looked again, fascinated at once by the first 
sentence. 

“ I think the secret of our success was prayer,” 
she was saying; and just then she turned her 
head so that Tom saw her full in the face, — a 
sweet, bright face, all full of enthusiasm now. It 
fairly took his breath away; but there was no 
doubt about it: this was the same girl that he 
had seen act in so ill-mannered a way on the car. 
He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears as she 
went on. 

“We meet twice a month for a little prayer¬ 
meeting of our own. Each one of us prays. 
This was hard work at first; but we have found 
that it has brought us a great blessing to do so. 
We pray first for ourselves, and then we pray for 
the others, the special ones, you know, that are 
on our list for prayer and help. We have to pray 
first for ourselves, because we wouldn’t be fit to 
work and pray for the others if our own hearts 
were not right. Some of us think we have come 


296 “LIVING EPISTLES.” 

very close to Jesus in this way, and that he is 
helping us to do better in our every-day lives. 
Then each one of us takes some one to pray for 
especially every day, and to work for all we can. 
And sometimes this is very hard, when we are 
asked to take some one we don’t a bit like, and 
we have to forgive them and pray for ourselves a 
lot before we can try to do anything for them. 
We have one member of our committee who is 
just lovely. She is very unselfish, and she is very 
Christlike. I think she is the most Christlike 
person I ever met. She prays for people all the 
time ; and she never has any trouble in doing it, 
because she never hates any one. I wish you 
could have another person just like her here to 
put on your lookout committee. If she were only 
here to-night, she would tell you more than I can. 
I’m just new at this work; but I had to tell you 
about it, because it has done me so much good, 
and I thought you would like to know.” 

Then she sat down, and there was quite a little 
stir all about her as this one and that leaned over 
to her with an approving nod or whispered word ; 
and her cheeks were rosy, as if it had been a new 
experience for her to speak. 

Tom Rushmore was amazed. This was a puzzle 
that he could not unravel. When she began, he 
had curled his lip in scorn over the idea of that 
girl’s setting up to be “ good.” Her life did not 
match her words, he was sure ; but as she went 
on, there was a ring of real earnestness in her 


“living epistles.” 297 

tone, which made itself felt in spite of the bad in¬ 
fluence of her behavior on the train. Her heedless 
actions had almost kept one member out of the 
Christian Endeavor Society, and perhaps out of 
the church and out of Christ; yet God was allow¬ 
ing her a little chance to undo what evil she had 
done. 

There followed a few moments of prayer, in 
which many took part, most of them in only one 
sentence. It was something entirely new and 
very solemn to Tom Rushmore to hear so many 
and so young people pray. Something of his old 
criticism tried to return as he heard and recog¬ 
nized two or three voices that had been loudest 
on the cars ; but something whispered, “ They 
did not know; they did not realize how their 
actions looked to others. They did no real wrong; 
it was but your taste they offended. Give them 
one more chance before you pass your judgment 
on them and on their God, whom they profess to 
serve and follow.” 

There was a young girl sitting in a chair in the 
aisle at the end of young Rushmore’s seat. Her 
face was clear and sweet. There was a wonderful 
placidity about it, which spoke of a source of joy 
in her heart. She was beautiful too, and yet 
had another beauty than that of mere form and 
feature and complexion. It seemed that a beauti¬ 
ful spirit was dwelling behind that face. He 
had watched her several times during the evening, 
thinking that if he were an artist he would like to 


298 “LIVING epistles.” 

paint that face, and yet feeling that there was 
something in it that could never be painted, and 
wondering what it was and what made it. While 
Fanny Welbourne was speaking, the girl’s face 
had lighted up with an eager joy, and she had 
leaned forward and taken in every word. Now, as 
they were sitting with bowed heads, from behind 
her shielding hand came the words, so distinctly 
that they could be heard all over the room, and 
yet not spoken in a loud tone, “Dear Jesus, we 
thank thee for what thou hast done for us. Please 
teach each one of us what it is we most need, and 
help us to pray for that.” 

The meeting closed soon after, and Miss Bow¬ 
man slipped through the crowd to Tom’s side. 

“Mr. Rushmore, please wait a moment. I want 
to introduce you to Mr. Eldridge, the city presi¬ 
dent. I am sure you will like him.” 

He bowed assent courteously, and stepped out 
of the aisle to wait. The young girl that had sat 
at the end of his seat had also stepped aside to 
wait for her friends, when up rushed Fanny Wel¬ 
bourne, with her impetuous, eager face all aglow. 

“ O Faith ! ” she cried, before she was fairly be¬ 
side her, “ I didn’t know you were here, or I 
never, never would have spoken in all this world. 
I was so frightened when I found you were here, 
and could have spoken yourself. But I had to, 
you know. When he asked me, I just couldn’t 
say no, and have nothing said about that wonder¬ 
ful committee that has done me so much good. 


LIVING EPISTLES. 


299 


<< 


And I meant you, dear; you know that I did. 
You’re just the centre of our whole committee. I 
just wish I could tell you the good you have done 
me.” Yes, Tom was not mistaken. There were 
tears in Fanny’s gay black eyes. “And you 
meant me in your prayer : I know you did : didn’t 
you ? I need to be taught what I most need. I 
wish you would help tell me.” Then she turned 
with a bright smile to the young man Will, and 
greeted him with some funny remark before the 
beautiful girl had time to reply. 

And Tom, standing where he could not help 
hearing it all, looked at that pure, sweet face, and 
felt that here was indeed one of those that Miss 
Bowman had meant when she spoke of those ear¬ 
nest ones that were following Jesus so closely, and 
wished he knew her, that he might ask her to 
pray for him also. 

Tom Rushmore went home half decided to join 
the Brinton Christian Endeavor Society in spite 
of all he had said against it. 

It is so seldom that we are given an opportunity 
to erase an ill-written page that it behooves us to 
take heed to our writing, lest some day it bring us 
pain and shame. 





* 











f 



THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


CHAPTER L 



'HE night was cold and dark. A fine mist was 


X falling, and freezing as it fell, covering every¬ 
thing with a glare of ice. The street-lamps made 
vain attempts to light up their corner of the dark 
world, only succeeding in throwing a feeble flicker 
here and there on the treacherous pavements, re¬ 
vealing occasional glazed patches of dirty snow in 
sheltered corners. Even the electric lights which 
flung their brightness into the night here and 
there could not give a cheerful air to the city. 
The street-car drivers, muffled from head to foot, 
standing solemnly at their posts, as though per¬ 
forming a world’s funeral services, and their gaunt 
beasts, with not enough spirit left to shiver back 
at the chilling atmosphere which infolded their 
heavy bodies, straining at their heavy load, and 
slipping on the icy stones, all gave one more 
touch of dreariness to the scene. It was not 
a night when one would have chosen to take a 
walk for pleasure; and yet one young man was 
out with the intention of getting some amuse- 



302 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


ment if it were possible. He was a stranger in 
the city, having drifted there that very day, and 
for want of money had engaged himself to work 
in the first position he could find, which happened 
to be in the shop of a tobacconist. The work was 
not altogether to his liking. He was capable of 
better things. But better things did not present 
themselves, and he needed money, so he tried to 
make the best of this. 

But it was a poor best that he could make out 
of it so far. He must needs go to a boarding¬ 
house, and the cheapest he could find was very 
cheap in comforts as well as name. He was 
obliged to take a room with another young man, 
which he did not like. The room looked dirty, too, 
and this new-comer was used to a clean room. His 
mother had been his former landlady; and though 
she was weary and overworked, still she had con¬ 
trived to keep things tolerably clean, even if it 
was but a cheap boarding-house, with an air of un¬ 
mistakable forlornity and poverty about it. Her 
son had never paid his board, and consequently 
had been able to attend theatres and entertain¬ 
ments as often as he chose. It had really never 
occurred to him that he ought to pay his board 
to his mother. He gave her money now and 
then, a little, when she was in a tight place 
and mustered courage to ask for it. But he en¬ 
joyed his evenings at the theatre, and a young 
man ought to have amusement. Perhaps it was in 
consequence of late hours that he had a habit of 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


303 


sleeping late mornings. He was often behind time 
at the store, which at last drew down upon him 
the reproaches of his employer. At this he had 
grown angry, taken his wages, bought a ticket to 
this city, and here he was. He thought of it all 
now as he walked slowly along the city street. 
He was not exactly sorry yet, though things 
looked very uncomfortable. He had not analyzed 
the matter, and therefore did not realize that his 
love of amusement was at the bottom of the 
whole trouble perhaps. Indeed, he was on his 
way to find amusement now, though he had not a 
cent in his pocket with which to buy a ticket into 
anything. He was not sufficiently familiar with 
the city to know in what direction to go; but his 
instincts told him, and he presently found himself 
in the region of the large theatres. 

An unusually bright flood of light attracted his 
attention to a large building, and he quickened his 
steps somewhat. Other people were going in the 
same direction ; for, as he neared the corner, he 
saw a procession of bobbing umbrellas, and people 
carefully picking their way along the slippery 
sidewalk. Something very attractive must be 
going on here, he felt sure. He joined the crowd, 
and pressed nearer the door. Over the heads of 
the people he caught a few glimpses of large letters, 
just a word or two, “ Bernhardt ” and “ La Tosca.” 

His heart warmed within him. He had seen 
Bernhardt before, and knew that “ La Tosca” was 
considered one of her very best parts. 


304 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


“ Now, Brad Benedict, this is just your luck,” 
he muttered to himself as he stood back on the 
steps and let the crowd surge by him. “ I wish 
I hadn’t paid for that miserable week’s board in 
advance. I might have found some place where 
they wouldn’t require that.” 

This young man, Bradley Benedict, as he stood 
there in the partial darkness scowling at his fate, 
had anything but an attractive look; and yet, 
seen in a strong light, his face was not altogether 
a poor one. He had a good forehead. It would 
have been called an intellectual forehead if the rest 
of his face had not been so utterly out of harmony 
with such a thought. It was not a weak face, 
but rather an ungoverned, lawless look. A good 
thought, or sometimes a glance at his mother, had 
been known to quite alter his expression, until he 
had almost a look of goodness and beauty. But 
he had a quick temper and a headstrong will. 

By his side stepped an old gentleman, leaning 
forward in the light, fumbling with some coins in 
his purse, evidently trying to find one of the right 
value with which to pay for an evening paper 
he had just bought, and which a small newsboy 
was holding impatiently up to him. Three ladies, 
who seemed to belong to the old gentleman, 
waited a little apart. Suddenly, with a nervous 
move, the old gentleman dropped his purse at 
the feet of the young man, scattering coins this 
way and that. There was much good nature in 
young Benedict’s make-up, and he instantly 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


305 


stooped to help the old gentleman. But when 
the purse was finally righted and the newsboy 
paid, the old man seemed disturbed, and still 
searched the dark steps eagerly. 

“There’s a queer bit of coin missing that I 
picked up in my travels; I wouldn’t lose it for a 
good deal,” he said in a troubled tone. 

Bradley began the search once more, and after 
some minutes he rescued the coin from a crack 
into which it had slipped. 

The old gentleman’s thanks were profuse, and 
he seemed to be looking the young man over 
to see if it would do to offer him pay for the ser¬ 
vice performed. But Bradley had worn his best 
clothes when he came off on this expedition to a 
strange city, and the old man decided that it would 
not do. Suddenly a new thought struck him. 

“ Have you a ticket in here, young man ? ” he 
asked. 

“No,” growled Benedict, recalling his misfor¬ 
tune once more. 

“Well, I’ve an extra one that our party won’t 
use. Take it if you want it. Hope you’ll enjoy 
it. I’m obliged to you for your service.” 

He pressed the ticket into Bradley’s hand, and 
was gone. The young man did not wait long, but 
followed his benefactor up the steps and into the 
hall, very much pleased with the change in his 
fortunes. 

He presented his ticket, and was shown to his 
seat, which proved to be a good one, but not near 


306 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


the seat of the old gentleman. Of that he was 
glad. He felt more self-respect here, as if he had 
paid his own way in. He settled himself, and 
began to look about. The opera-house was a fine 
one, and there was much of interest to be seen ; 
but his attention was almost immediately directed 
to the stage. It presented a remarkable appear¬ 
ance to the eyes of this young man who was so 
accustomed to attend the theatre. There were 
seats built up in semi-circular tiers which nearly 
covered it, and the curtain was raised. What in 
the world did it mean ? While he looked, there 
filed in several hundred people, musicians with 
their great instruments, and ladies in beautiful 
dresses, and seated themselves. 

It certainly was something new under the sun. 
He was not aware that Bernhardt performed with 
any such chorus, but perhaps La Tosca introduced 
new features. 

Presently there came in two young women 
dressed more in the theatre style than any of 
the others, followed by two young men in full 
evening dress, with another handsome young 
man a little in the rear. At sight of them the 
audience broke into applause. 

“ Who are they ? ” Benedict ventured to ask 
the young man at his side.. 

“ The soloists and the leader,” replied his 
neighbor in a tone which made the questioner 
feel like a greenhorn, and resolve to keep his 
mouth closed. 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


307 


Above the hum of talk arose the soft murmur 
and twang of the different instruments as their 
owners tightened a string here and there. The 
scene and the sounds were much like the opening 
of any performance, with the exception of the 
well-filled stage. He tried to think that there 
was still another stage beyond this one, and that 
presently the curtain, which represented a road 
winding off to green hills, with lovely woods on 
either side, would roll up and disclose it; but he 
came to the conclusion, after a little study, that 
this was impossible. He looked the audience 
over. It was much like the audience of a high- 
class opera. The boxes near the stage were filled 
with people, many of them in full dress and ablaze 
with diamonds. He had heard that Bernhardt 
drew all the “swells.” He watched the different 
people as they came in. Some wore quiet dress; 
but the large majority of those who took seats 
in the parquet and dress circle carried their wraps 
in their hands, or thrown loosely about their shoul¬ 
ders, and wore no hats. As he watched, an old 
lady with white hair drawn into many wearying 
puffs and crimps, and a long white opera cloak 
enveloping her stout figure, rolled by him, fol¬ 
lowed by her footman with most decorous bearing. 
A dudish-looking man, with a tall crush hat, an 
eyeglass, and a fur-trimmed overcoat reaching 
from his hat-brim to his toes, followed, and made 
much display in seating himself, and arranging 
his belongings to his satisfaction. 


308 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


As young Benedict was absorbed in looking at 
these (to him) queer specimens of humanity, and 
making mental comments upon them, there sud¬ 
denly broke upon his ear a soft, sweet strain, so 
low and tender that it could scarcely have been 
distinguished had there not been an instant hush 
in the audience to let the beautiful music flow 
over it. He did not remember to have ever 
watched a fine orchestra before. It was very 
interesting, and to a certain extent the wonder¬ 
ful sweetness of the music thrilled him. He 
glanced angrily at a group of belated ones in the 
aisle who were waiting for this to be over that 
they might be seated, and who were heartless 
enough to whisper; and it fell sharply upon his 
ear when some irate individual upon whom the 
door had been closed rapped loudly several times 
for admittance. He glared at an usher, and won¬ 
dered why such things were not stopped. The 
music had certainly found a little entrance-way 
into his soul, although he was looking for some¬ 
thing very much more to his taste ; while this was 
going on, he wanted to hear it. 

He drew a long breath as the music died away. 
Music never made him feel so queer before, and 
he did not understand it. 

There was a moment’s pause, during which 
people rustled into seats, and then a rich, sweet 
tenor sang clear and distinct the words : “ Com¬ 
fort ye my people, saith your God.” In all his 
experience of operas and theatres Bradley Bene- 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


309 


diet had never heard one that commenced in this 
way. He wished he knew the idea of this La 
Tosca. Could it be that it was a religious play? 
No; for he had heard it spoken of in anything but 
a reverent tone. 


3 io 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


CHAPTER II. 

P ERHAPS there was sarcasm behind it all. 

Maybe the curtain would rise in a moment, 
and a great chorus would break in above this 
sweet voice, and drown it, and there would be 
cheers and laughter and something jolly. But 
this thought grated. He did not want the sweet 
voice stopped. Something in these words ap¬ 
pealed to him. They were so distinctly spoken 
that he could 0 not but understand; and yet, though 
he heard, his mind took in but that first sentence 
of the solo : “ Comfort ye my people, saith your 
God.” 

Comfort. He knew what that meant. He 
dimly remembered how in his little boyhood, 
when he fell or hurt his finger, his mother would 
drop everything and gather him up in her arms, 
and say, “ Mother will comfort him.” He sud¬ 
denly felt how utterly desolate he was here in 
this strange city, and that he would like to be 
a little boy again, with his mother to comfort him. 
To be sure, it was long years since that mother 
had had time or strength to think of comforting 
her son ; and if she had, she would about as soon 
have thought of offering comfort to the president 
of the United States as to him, for she would not 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


31 I 

have expected it to be received with anything 
but scorn. But the grown-up boy dimly remem¬ 
bered the comfort and shelter of those arms long 
ago, and had a faint desire to feel them about 
him once more. 

“ Comfort my people, saith your God,” the song 
rang on. Did God care to comfort people ? 
What would be such comfort if a mother’s were 
so good ? What was God ? It was a new picture 
to this darkened mind, the picture of a God com¬ 
forting beloved people; and the outlines were dim 
for the reason that there was too much bright¬ 
ness in it for these eyes so long unused to the 
light. 

“ Every valley shall be exalted, and every 
mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, 
and the rough places plain,” sang on the same 
voice; and Bradley did not understand it. He 
looked for the curtain to rise and explain all; but, 
instead, the chorus rose, and burst forth in one 
grand prophetic strain : “ And the glory of the 
Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it 
together; for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken 
it.” The singers took up the sentence, and 
shouted it back and forth at one another with a 
gladness in their voices that made this one listener 
feel that they were speaking of something which 
brought them pleasure; and in some way there 
was a little thrill of satisfaction in his own heart, 
so used to respond with emotion to what was put 
before him in song, or act, or story. This cer- 


312 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


tainly was a queer theatre. A deep bass voice 
now took up the song in solemn accents : — 

“Thus saith the Lord of hosts. Yet once a 
little while, and I will shake the heavens and the 
earth, and the sea and the dry land, and I will 
shake all nations. . . . The Lord whom yfc seek 
shall suddenly come to his temple, even the mes¬ 
senger of the covenant, whom ye delight in.” 

Could it be that these people were going to 
dare to produce all this in scenery and acting ? 
Would they try to have an earthquake and a 
storm at sea ? Would they try to represent the 
coming of the Lord ? This young man was 
shocked at the thought. His idea of God had 
never been a very definite one. He had been to 
Sabbath-school when he was a small boy; but the 
teacher had been one who did not approve of 
trying to teach much of sacred things to little 
children, so he had a general idea that he must 
be good, or a great and terrible Being would do 
something awful to him. When he graduated 
from this class into a higher, the teacher required 
him to learn a lesson, and they had no songs to 
rest them, and he thought it stupid, so he stayed 
away. His mother, poor thing ! had not known 
much of God, or at least had not tried to teach 
him. He had heard God’s name mostly taken in 
vain; indeed, he had not been altogether careful 
of using it himself upon occasion. Why should 
he ? It meant little to him. And yet, the 
thought that this terrible song about the Lord’s 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


313 


sudden coming was about to be represented, 
jarred him — frightened him, perhaps. He looked 
about upon the audience, to see if any one felt 
as he did ; but they all looked calm. One lady 
was intently studying the scrap of a butterfly 
bonnet on the head of her neighbor in front; 
and the eyeglass man had his neck twisted to 
get a better view of some one in a private box, 
through his opera-glasses. Bradley wondered 
vaguely how they could be so indifferent. Did 
people know what this was to be ? He had heard 
that many people objected to the play of “ La 
Tosca;” and perhaps it was as he feared. But 
the grand voice went calmly on speaking the 
terrible words: — 

“ But who may abide the day of his coming; 
and who shall stand when he appeareth ? For he 
is like a refiner’s fire.” 

Bradley heard no more for some time. His 
heart was stirred wonderfully. This was awful. 
He wished the old man on the street had not 
dropped his pocket book, nor given him the ticket. 
He wished he was out in the cold and sleet this 
very minute. He would get out of this : it was a 
terrible place; how people stood it he did not 
understand. But everything was still, every one 
listening. He did not want to make a stir, and 
draw all eyes to himself. Perhaps when this solo 
was finished there would be a pause, when he 
could get out. Meantime, he tried to stop his 
ears from hearing these terrible words. Never- 


314 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


theless, they sounded all the clearer in his heart, 
and he began to wonder how he could stand 
before this God whom he knew not. 

The young man, his neighbor, looked at him 
curiously as he wriggled uneasily in his seat, 
glancing back toward the door, and a good woman 
at his other side offered him her fan ; but his 
discomfort grew. He looked down at his boots, 
trying to forget the hall, and all about him ; think 
of what he would do on the morrow; lay plans 
for his future career. And the people in the hall 
all silently trooped away for a while, the seats 
seemed to be empty, and left him alone with 
the voice ; and swiftly there gathered about him, 
in shadowy forms, the acts of his past life, and 
looked down upon him trembling, as the voice 
died away in the words: “For he is like a re¬ 
finer’s fire.” 

The contralto had taken up the song; but the 
change of voice did not arrest the attention of 
the young man. He seemed under a spell. He 
heard none of the words of the solo except the 
closing—so soft and sweet that it fell like a 
blessing on the hushed roof: “ Emmanuel, God 
with us.” It left a tender touch in the air as it 
died away. There was gladness almost too deep 
for utterance in the voice of the singer ; and yet 
this must be the God about whom the question 
had been asked: “ Who shall stand when he 

appeareth ?” 

There were some, then, to whom the thought: 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 3 I 5 

“ God with us,” brought nothing but wonderful 
joy ! What a God was this ! 

The joyous-voiced chorus took up the strain : 
“ O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion, get 
thee up into the high mountain.” 

Bradley looked up; the shadows slunk behind, 
and the audience was there again. It was impos¬ 
sible not to be lifted up by this burst of joy and 
melody, though the young man did not under¬ 
stand in the least what it all was about. There 
seemed no sense or connection; and yet he dimly 
perceived the story running through the whole, 
as one who listens to a tale in an unknown 
tongue, and understanding not one single con¬ 
nected sentence, will yet catch at the sense from 
the speaker’s voice or motions, or from the light¬ 
ing of the eyes, so subtle are the ways that spirits 
have of communicating thoughts to one another. 

‘‘Arise, shine, for thy light has come, and the 
glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.” And this 
listener felt his soul try to rise and be glad with 
the rest; but the bonds of its ignorance and blind¬ 
ness were so great that it sank back again in 
despair. He felt the cold, chill shadows creep 
over the earth, and darkness so dense it could 
be felt hiding every face, as the bass told the 
story. Then gradually there lifted a corner of 
this heavy blackness, and a little light crept into 
the sky as the voice went on : “ The people that 

walked in darkness have seen a great light.” And 
there came an eager anxiety in his heart to see 


316 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


that light, and stand in the full rays of its bright¬ 
est glory, even as he had sometimes longed to be 
the great, rich, successful hero of some play to 
which he had listened for an evening, only there 
was something different about this feeling that 
swayed him. It was so dim and indefinite and 
far away, and only part of him seemed to long for 
this, while the other part of himself was angry 
and irritated at the thought, and wished to get 
away. Why didn’t he go ? But the chorus was 
rising again. He would go as soon as they were 
through; the room was too still now. 

Softly as an angel might have sung above a 
sleeping baby, the music began. The great com¬ 
pany of sopranos hushed their sweet notes till 
they sounded far away in the clouds ; then coming 
nearer, tenderly, exultantly, yet as if there might 
be tears in the voices, — tears of joy, — came the 
words: “For unto us a child is born.” 

And the basses took it up in the same far-away 
tone, as though it floated from an upper world 
almost: “Unto us a son is given.” 

Still a third time the altos sang the strain, and 
a fourth the tenors took it up. They were all 
glad; and was this poor, bound soul of his to have 
no part in the joy ? And what was it all about ? 
A child born ! A son given! And why should 
they all care about that ? 

“And the government shall be upon his shoul¬ 
der; and his name—shall be call—ed” — sang 
the whole company, and then paused an instant 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 317 

for the orchestra to catch up, and gather strength 
to bring out the words that followed, — wonder¬ 
ful words, like great, polished precious stones of 
many colors and greatest brilliancy, which shone 
in the setting of this golden music as if placed 
there by a master workman. 

“ Wonderful! ” 

Bradley Benedict sat up straight, his hands 
clinched, and his breath scarcely coming through 
his tightly closed lips. He had never heard a 
word spoken or sung like that before. 

“ Counsellor! ” 

A great wave seemed to sweep over him, and 
roll away, leaving him breathless. 

“The mighty God ! M 

Every syllable seemed to strike a great blow at 
his heart, and go through him, and a fear came 
stealing over it. But there was something like 
a benediction in the next: “ The everlasting 

Father! ” 

Now, in spite of fear, there came a longing for 
his mother again. He did not remember his 
father’s love. 

“ The Prince of peace ! ” sang the great com¬ 
pany, who seemed to have been coming on and on, 
until now they were here in their full power; and 
the chorus sat down amid loud applause. The 
noise of it seemed harsh and out of place to the 
heart that had just been so stirred by the grandeur 
of the music. He wished the people had kept 
still. 


3 1 8 THE UNKNOWN GOD. 

And now the orchestra broke away as though 
the heavenly company had just come down to 
sing this one song, and announce to earth this 
one great thing, and were hastening back to join 
the praise in heaven. 

Very sweet the strains were, and Bradley lis¬ 
tened as he had never listened to any music in his 
life before. He did not know it was called a pas¬ 
toral symphony, and would not have known what 
that was if he had been told. He only knew he 
liked it, and was annoyed extremely when a lady 
behind him sneezed a funny little cat-like sneeze 
just in the midst of it, which set two young girls 
in the row in front to giggling. 

This music seemed to have in it suggestions of 
all that had been left out of his life, — clear skies, 
and sunny days, and the hushed, sweet peace of 
green fields far away from city life. He had 
never known that he cared for these things, but 
now they stood like beautiful, inviting pictures. 
He could even hear the murmur of the night 
wind as it whispered among tall branches, and 
softly touched tired grass and sleeping flowers, 
humming a little in tune with a twinkling brook 
which wound about not far away. The birds 
seemed all asleep ; he thought he heard one twit¬ 
ter as he stirred. The world, the noisy world, 
seemed a long way off from this quiet plage, 
where all were waiting for some great thing to 
happen. The meadows were not all alone with 
the birds. He, Bradley Benedict, the new hand 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


319 


at rolling tobacco, was there. He was awfully 
conscious of his own presence in that holy place 
the music was picturing. There were others wait¬ 
ing too. Indeed, he was not sure if the whole 
world were not waiting with him to see what 
would happen. 

Now the soprano was singing in simple, clear 
recitative about the shepherds abiding in the 
fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. 
Bradley could see the night sky, with its dotting 
of stars, and the glory that suddenly shone; could 
see the angel when he came, and the shepherds’ 
faces. The story was all very new to him. Scarce 
any inkling of it had ever reached his brain be¬ 
fore. Christmas had not brought its revelation to 
him as to many others. His childish idea of that 
day had been measured by the amount of property 
he acquired in sticks of candy, sleds, and balls. 

When the tender air of “He shall feed his flock 
like a shepherd ” floated through the room, there 
was something so infinitely lovely and loving in 
this One described, that his heart went out in 
longing in spite of himself; and when the soprano 
took up the song, with “Come unto him, all ye 
that labor and are heavy lad ; en, and he will give 
you rest,” there were almost tears in his eyes ; he 
could scarcely control himself, and he had a strong 
conviction that if that One about whom they were 
singing stood up there where he could see him, 
inviting him, he would have to go. He would not 
be strong enough to resist. 


320 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


The intermission had come. The young leader 
turned, bowing to the audience, then sank into 
his chair, throwing back his hair, and wiping his 
forehead with his handkerchief. Benedict might 
leave now. Why did he not take this opportu¬ 
nity ? Others were going out. The fat old lady 
with the white head and white cloak was lumber¬ 
ing out, with her dignified footman gravely follow¬ 
ing, bearing robes and shawls. She looked bored. 
The young man had lost his desire to get out; but 
half mechanically he reached down for his hat, 
until a remark of a pretty girl near by attracted 
his attention to the leader, — 

“He looks awfully tired, doesn’t he? My ! he 
must be smart to have drilled them so well.” 

“Yes; and he’s so graceful,” murmured her 
companion ; “ but it’s a dreadfully long pro¬ 
gramme, I think. He ought to leave out some.” 

Bradley’s eyes went to the leader, who looked 
not much older than himself. The face was no¬ 
ble, pure, and intellectual. He could but admire 
it. What was this young man ? 

Why did he give such a strange performance ? 
Bradley had long ago made up his mind that 
Sarah Bernhardt would not appear this evening. 
He had made some mistake. But what was this 
to which he had come ? Did this young man feel 
and believe all the singing he had been lead¬ 
ing? Or was it a mere bit of poetry? No; he 
decided that it was something higher than mere 
sentiment. He made up his mind that the young 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


321 


man felt the joy of belonging to that everlasting 
Father. If he had not, how could he have made 
those people sing it with such triumphant voices, 
as if they were the angels themselves, come down 
to tell the story ? 

But the intermission was over, and he had not 
gone yet, albeit his hat was in his hand. 

The chorus had begun once more. 

“Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away 
the sins of the world.” 

He began to long to have his own sins taken 
away, and wonder how it could be done; and when 
the sad contralto voice began to sing he listened 
eagerly. 

“ He was despised and rejected of men ; a man 
of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; ” and then 
the chorus:— 

“ Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried 
our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgres¬ 
sions ; he was bruised for our iniquities: the 
chastisement of our peace was upon him, and 
with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep 
have gone astray/’ 

“ Have gone astray,” echoed the alto, and bass 
and tenor answered, too, 4 We have gone astray ; 
we have turned every one to his own way.” 

“Yes; we have turned every one to his own 
way,” answered the listening heart that now 
thought of it for the first time. He had turned 
to his own way when he left his old employer and 
his mother, and came off here to this strange city 


322 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


to seek his fortune, which was proving so hard to 
find. He began to see many other things he had 
done and left undone. How he had turned to his 
own way. 

“And the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of 
us all,” 

There was something almost terrible in the 
sweetness of this concluding sentence. What 
claim had he upon the great Lord that his iniq¬ 
uity should be laid upon him ? During the first 
part he had been terrified and discomfited be¬ 
cause, in the light of the prophecies, he had been 
made to see his own heart more clearly than he 
had ever seen it before; and now, when his own 
worthlessness and sin stood out so blackly, here 
was a pitying One ready to take the whole. He 
began to understand the story better, which at 
first had seemed so utterly incomprehensible. 
But what was this the tenor was singing ? 

“ Thy rebuke hath broken his heart. He is full 
of heaviness. He looked for some to have pity 
on him, but there was no man, neither found he 
any to comfort him. Behold, and see if there be 
any sorrow like unto his sorrow.” 

He bowed his head in his hands, regardless of 
the curious and scornful neighbor. What did it 
mean ? There must be love to make such sorrow, 
and all for him, — that is, for the world, and he 
realized that he was included. Could it be that 
there was in the heart of this young man .at that 
moment a little thrill of real love for the unknown 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


323 


God who had borne sorrow for him, and with none 
to comfort him ? With none to comfort him ! 
Again that strange little thrill in his heart! 
Here was a link between himself and this God. 
Had he not longed for comfort that very night ? 
His mind went back to the first words of the 
evening: “ Comfort ye my people, saith your 
God.” God who had been without comfort or 
pity in his own great sorrow, yet wanted the peo¬ 
ple who had caused this sorrow to be comforted! 
It was wonderful. It was not strange that that 
word, one of His names, had rung out so clear 
and strong and bright in the music. “ Wonder¬ 
ful ! ” Such a God as this was indeed wonderful! 

When he raised his head again, the chorus was 
singing : “ Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be 
ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of 
glory shall come in.” 

And the great question which seemed to be 
asked by many of all nations and ages, “Who is 
the King of glory ? ” was the same question he had 
asked himself at the beginning of the evening. 
Who was this God ? The answer swelled and 
soared as from millions of voices besides those 
belonging to the visible chorus on the platform : 
“The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty 
in battle. The Lord of hosts, he is the King of 
glory.” 

Some little idea of the power and majesty 
meant to be conveyed by these words entered 
this newly aroused mind, and he pondered over 


324 THE UNKNOWN GOD. 

the thought that such a mighty God should care 
for him. 

He was absorbed in this idea for some time, 
and did not take in what followed, until suddenly, 
with one accord, quietly and respectfully, the 
whole audience rose to their feet ! Benedict got 
up too, just as the first great “ hallelujah ” of that 
magnificent chorus burst upon his ears. Aston¬ 
ished at all that had gone before, worn out with 
the unusual emotions that had been swelling 
within his heart, trembling from excitement so 
that he could scarcely stand, he listened as the 
hallelujahs were flung on every side with prodigal 
hand, like resplendent rockets in a great celebra¬ 
tion ; and his heart swelled as the words of adora¬ 
tion were poured forth from those hundreds 
of trained throats : “ King of kings, and Lord of 
lords ! hallelujah ! ” and felt that he could never 
go back to his old life, and be the same again. 

He was dimly conscious that there followed 
this another intermission, during which time a 
great many of the diamonded and eyeglassed sort 
rustled out, and their places were quietly and 
gladly filled from the throng which had paid for 
standing-room at the back of the house. 

Of the Part Third which followed, he heard, to 
remember, but the first solo, that wonderful sen¬ 
tence, the climax of our trust, which contains our 
hope for life eternal: — 

“ I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he 
shall stand at the latter day upon the earth ; and 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


325 


though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh 
shall I see God. For now is Christ risen from 
the dead, the firstfruits of them that sleep.” 

Oh, to know that ! To feel that wonderful 
surety! He looked at the white-robed singer 
with awe, feeling almost the possibility that she 
might vanish from their sight into the heavens 
when this song was over. It never entered his 
mind but that she felt it all ; how else could she 
sing so to other hearts ? 

The closing triumphal chorus he heard as in a 
dream; but he echoed the “ blessing and honor, 
glory and power, for ever and ever,” with a glad 
“Amen” in his heart, keeping in his mind the 
while the words, “ I know,” and resolving that 
they should be his own some day if ever he could 
find out how to make them his. 

He went out into the dark and wet. 


326 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


CHAPTER III. 


HE rain had almost ceased; the wind was 



X keener and sharper, and the pavements had 
become treacherous glass indeed. The throng 
ahead of him slipped and tottered, and some actm 
ally fell. They must needs fairly crawl along; but 
Bradley Benedict heeded none of these things. 
He was back in the opera-house still, face to face 
with the Man of sorrows; and he scarcely noted 
which way he was going until a hand was laid upon 
his shoulder, and a voice, which was altogether too 
familiar to please him, shouted, “ Hello ! Which 
way you goin’, and where you bin ? ” 

It was the young man who was to be his room¬ 
mate, on his way from a cheap theatre. He knew 
the look of the place. He had been to such often 
before, and taken delight in them ; but to-night 
his heart turned from it with revulsion. He felt as 
if he had lived years since he entered the opera- 
house that evening. 

“ I’m going home,” he answered his companion 
shortly; and even as he spoke he felt what a mis¬ 
nomer that word was when applied to the squalid 
lodging-house. He wished he were going home to 
his mother; and then and there he resolved to go 
just as soon as he could earn enough to take him. 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


327 


“H’m!” said the other young man. “Well, 
you’d better turn around and mog along in the 
other direction if you expect to get there without 
going around the world. Come on! ” and he 
turned his unwilling friend about, and, linking 
his arm in his, walked along by his side. 

“ Wher’ve you been ? ” he asked Benedict 
presently, as soon as they were out of the worst 
of the crowd. 

“In there,” said Benedict, pointing toward the 
great opera-house with a sort of friendly feeling 
for the building where he had passed through 
such a strange experience. There was a glow in 
his heart which he could not understand. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed the other in a surprised 
voice. “You must have a heap of cash. It costs 
a penny to get in there. What’s on to-night ? 
Bernhardt ? Let me see. No. Why, it was the 
oratorio night, wasn’t it ? ” and he glanced up at 
his companion with astonishment and a look al¬ 
most of respect. “ Is that the set you train in ? ” 
he added, as Benedict replied simply by a nod. 
He had never known exactly what an oratorio was 
before; but now that he considered the matter, it 
certainly must have been that to which he had 
been listening. 

It was a silent walk the rest of the way to the 
boarding-house. Benedict’s mind was too full of 
other things to care to talk much, and the young 
man by his side found he had no conversation 
ready for the sort of companion who took his 


328 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


amusement at the Oratorio of the Messiah. Now 
and then he glanced curiously at him as they 
shuffled along over the ice. A keen, strong wind 
had risen, and afforded sufficient excuse for them 
to retire behind their coat-collars and keep silence. 

Bradley Benedict was turning over in his mind 
this thought: Would this strange, new feeling stay 
with him, or would it go away and leave his life 
the same empty void, without purpose or promise, 
that it had been but a few hours before? He 
realized now that it had been a bad and worthless 
life, and wondered at himself for never knowing 
it before. 

Sleep did not come to this young man so soon 
as to his room-mate. The air of the room was 
breathless; and mingled with the smell of tobacco 
there was a strong odor of fried onions, lingering 
probably from the boarding-house supper. His 
evening in company with refined people, listening 
to wonderful music, and thinking higher thoughts 
than had ever entered his mind before, seemed to 
have quickened his sensibilities to these little 
things. He felt almost stifled. He arose, went 
to the window, and threw up the sash. The cold 
air poured in, and made him shiver; but he threw 
his coat about his shoulders and looked out. The 
city was quieting into its after-midnight stillness 
now; the breeze had blown a small space in the 
heavy sky for the moon to shine faintly through, 
which the hurrying clouds were rapidly trying to 
cover again. One tiny star threw out a few flicker- 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


329 


ing, straggling beams between clouds. The earth 
looked very dark, save where the lights of the city 
shone through tear-stained glass. It was intensely 
cold. The sky grew black again as the clouds 
gained a temporary victory over the moon and the 
one star. Bradley felt alone — alone with God, 
and “ Who shall stand when he appeareth ? ” came 
to his mind. Then the moon struggled through 
the clouds once more, and he thought of the 
words : “ The people that sat in darkness have 
seen a great light.” How many scraps of song 
he could remember! He felt the same desires 
which had moved him when he first heard the 
words,—the longing to be able to sing the joyful 
songs; to feel secure; to have this Friend, this 
Comforter. Suddenly, as if in answer to his soul’s 
cry, there seemed to come over the wicked city a 
soft, sweet voice singing the words with tender 
pathos : “ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” 

He listened until the voice died away on the 
night, and then in the darkness he bowed his 
head, and came and found rest. 

Mrs. Benedict sat by the remains of a meagre 
fire in the grate of the “ parlor,” as it was called. 
The room was deserted by all the boarders now, 
and she was free to sit here in peace for a few 
minutes. It was very late, and she was weary, — 
so weary that she had scarcely strength to take 
her up the stairs to her sleeping-room. She had 


330 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


thought earlier in the day that the most de¬ 
lightful thing that could happen to her would 
be to drop into a bed and stay there, and never 
have to get up again. She had gone through all 
the day with an almost eager looking forward to 
the time when she could throw her burdensome, 
tired-out body on the bed, and relax the over¬ 
strained muscles for a little time. But here she 
sat, trying to warm herself from the few weak- 
looking coals still left in the grate, and gain 
strength to mount to her room. It had been a 
more than usually wearisome day. The cook had 
been undeniably drunk, and not able to do a stroke 
of work; and the slouchy second girl, who was her 
only other assistant, had been out late the night 
before, and had done nothing all day but dawdle 
about and yawn. One of the young men board¬ 
ers, whom she had hoped would turn out to be 
a “permanent/’ had left that morning; one had 
departed, leaving a used-up pair of suspenders, and 
a hat with the crown jammed in, to pay his last 
month’s board. She had decidedly failed in her 
meek efforts to coax three others into paying 
something towards past arrears ; and the rent col¬ 
lector had called, and told her that he could not 
wait much longer. Besides all this, she had the 
neuralgia in one cheek and eye—and her boy 
was gone away. That was the climax. Her boy ! 
She had thought about it and cried about it until 
she had no more strength left for either. As she 
sat looking absently into the coals, where smoul- 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 33 1 

dered the stumps of two or three boarders' cigars, 
a tear trickled weakly down her cheek, scarcely 
gathering strength enough as it went to fall in a 
good honest splash in her lap, but spreading itself 
out in a wet spot among the wrinkles. Her hair 
was rough and gray ; and one lock had escaped 
from the pin that tried to hold it in a hard knot at 
the back of her head, and hung now in a discour¬ 
aged way about her face. The eyes were faded 
blue, and the skin was so wrinkled you could not 
guess what the contour of the face might have 
been in earlier days. She looked a sad picture of 
despair. The room itself was a desolate enough 
place. Mrs. Benedict had been obliged to relax 
her vigilance for cleanliness during the trials of 
the past few days; and, as a consequence, the 
disorder that reigned made it even more Sahara- 
like than usual. The ashes had spread themselves 
about on the hearth, and gathered a small collec¬ 
tion of toothpicks and cigar-stumps. A fine, soft, 
dust was over the mantel, broken here and there 
by the marks of some boarder’s elbow. 

There was an emaciated, hollow-chested, hair¬ 
cloth sofa against the wall; a table on the other 
side of the room, with a faded red-and-black 
flannel spread, and holding a few Fireside Compan¬ 
ions and an ancient copy of “She.” A weary- 
faced clock on the mantel, a few cane-seat chairs 
in various stages of dilapidation, and a depressed- 
looking rocker, completed the furniture of the 
room. The floor was covered with a large-figured, 


332 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


much faded and darned red-and-green ingrain 
carpet, helped out in front of door and fire¬ 
place by pieces of dreary oilcloth from which the 
paint had long ago departed. On the walls hung 
a few family groups and portraits, Mrs. Benedict’s 
marriage certificate, and a cross made of hair 
flowers, all framed in oval or square black frames. 

The marriage certificate occupied the place of 
honor over the sofa, with a full-length portrait of 
“ Braddie,” as she called her son, hanging on one 
side. He wore baggy plaid trousers that looked 
full enough for a modern divided skirt, white 
stockings, a high white collar, and a very short 
coat, and carried a hat, much too old and large for 
him, stiffly in one hand. The hair was long and 
thick, and the face chunky and expressionless, for 
the photograph was a poor one, and old; but his 
mother gazed at him, remembered her little boy 
as he used to be, and sighed a great, deep sigh. 
Then she turned her tear-dimmed eyes to the 
picture which hung on the other side. It was that 
of a man, presumably, though the picture, which 
must have been taken long ago, had faded so that 
little was distinct save some black hair and a coat. 
The light from the smoky lamp was turned low, 
however, and there was no bright fire to help out 
the features. But the lonely heart looking at 
them knew how the face had looked, and the weak 
tears gathered and coursed down between their 
wrinkles thick and fast. It was a hard world, 
and she was so tired! 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


333 


A sharp ring of the door-bell broke the stillness 
of the room, and she looked toward the hall a mo¬ 
ment in surprise. Yes, she had locked the door 
for the night before sitting down. Surely all the 
boarders were in. The clerk at Mason’s came in 
half an hour ago, and he was always the last one. 
But she arose mechanically, and went to answer 
the bell. 

She unfastened the lock, and threw back the 
door, holding the lamp in one hand in front of her 
eyes, so that she was completely blinded. While 
the darkness rushed in, and the lamplight stag¬ 
gered out to take its place, she was conscious of 
somebody standing beside her. It was a strong 
man like her Braddie. He shut the door, took the 
lamp from her hand, and then, taking her in his 
arms, uttered one word : “ Mother ! ” 

She was so tired and so glad, and there was 
a confusion in her mind whether this was really 
Braddie, or Braddie’s father come back to earth 
again, he seemed so like his father as he held 
her. She had not been held so for twenty years. 

To his old employer Bradley Benedict said the 
next morning, “ I’ve found God, Mr. Bolton; and 
I’ve come home to take care of my mother and 
prove to you that I'm trying to live a different 
life, if you’ll take me back and try me.” 

It was two or three years afterwards when it 
was announced that the Oratorio of the Messiah 
would be rendered in the largest church of the 
place in which the Benedicts lived. Bradley im- 


334 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


mediately took two tickets, and selected the best 
seats the house afforded. Then he said, — 

“ Mother, the Oratorio of the Messiah is to be 
here next week, and I want you to hear it. It is 
what saved me, and brought me home to begin life 
over again.” 

And Mrs. Benedict, not in the least knowing 
what an oratorio was, but glad to please “her 
Braddie,” donned her plain black silk, and combed 
her white hair to its smoothest, and went. She 
sat and watched her tall boy proudly through the 
whole evening, and told him at the close it was a 
nice concert, as good as any she and his father 
ever went to. But of the music she heard little, 
and she wondered in her heart what it could pos¬ 
sibly be in that singing which had anything to do 
with Bradley’s coming home. 

Things have changed since Bradley Benedict 
came home that night. The boarders are gone, 
and the family have moved to a small, cosey house. 
The old furniture has given place to bright, cheery 
belongings, and Mrs. Benedict is renewing her 
youth under the loving care of her son. 

Oh, ye disciples of Fashion and Art, as I passed 
by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar, in 
this Oratorio of the Messiah, set up by you “To 
the Unknown God.” Whom therefore ye igno¬ 
rantly worship, Him could this unlearned young 
man declare unto you. For God, “that made the 
world and all things therein, and hath made of one 


THE UNKNOWN GOD. 


335 


blood all nations for to dwell on all the face of the 
earth, and hath determined the times before ap¬ 
pointed, and the bounds of their habitation ; that 
they should seek the Lord, if haply they might 
feel after him, and find him, though he be not far 
from every one of us.” 



UNDER THE WINDOW. 



HE little bronze clock on the shelf over the 


-L fireplace chimed out seven, and then took 
up its next hour’s work of counting out the 
seconds to the sleeping cat on the hearth. The 
room was all alone, and very still, having a quiet 
time by itself. The fire winked and blinked at 
the lamp, and the lamp beamed brightly back 
from under its home-made shade of rose-colored 
tissue paper and cardboard. The carpet, a neat 
ingrain, looked as if it knew its place and what 
was expected of it; namely, to look prettier than 
it really was, to wear long and not show dirt, and 
it would not presume upon its privileges even 
when the mistress was out. The sofa was wide, 
deep, and comfortable, made of a dry-goods box, 
with a wide board nailed on for a back, and the 
whole deftly padded and covered with an old 
crimson shawl, too shabby as to fringes to be 
longer used as an outside wrap. 

There were curtains too. You wouldn’t have 
had them in your room. They were nothing but 
cheese-cloth with rows of threads pulled and tied; 
but they were cheap, and gave a pretty air of 


337 



338 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


grace and homeliness to the room. Besides, they 
were held back from the windows by broad yellow 
satin ribbons. To be sure, the ribbons were only 
old pink ones, washed and dyed with diamond 
dye; but they were yellow, and added a dainty 
touch to the plainness of other things. 

There was a small table with a red cover, 
which held the lamp ; two wooden chairs, a gay 
little rocker covered with cretonne, and a stool 
near the hearth. Above the table was a little 
shelf with a Bible and a few other books. 

The only really elegant things in the room were 
the aforesaid bronze clock and two delicate vases 
of Parian marble; but these were presents from 
some former little pupils of the mistress, and, as 
such, occupied the place of honor, — the broad shelf 
over the wide, old-fashioned fireplace. But they 
seemed to have made friends with the ingrain 
carpet, the home-made sofa, and the cheese-cloth 
curtains, and to feel quite as much at home with 
the yellow ribbons as though the latter had been 
real and new, not old and dyed. There were a 
few pictures and bright cards that smiled down 
from the walls — and the room kept very still and 
waited, all alone. Now and again the white cat 
stirred in his sleep, opened one eye up at the 
clock, as though he had just heard it strike those 
seven clear strokes, pushed his fore paws slowly, 
tremblingly forward, in the luxury of a stretch, 
opened his mouth to its utmost extent, then 
turned over to cuddle down again, one paw over 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 339 

his nose, and a contented smile on his pink cat 
mouth. 

There were two windows in the room, one look¬ 
ing out on the little strip of ground between the 
house and the street, the other opening to a sort 
of lane or alley ; and this window was down from 
the top several inches, for the mistress had ideas 
on ventilation. The wind came in and stirred the 
curtains, even waving the least mite the white fur 
on the end of the cat’s tail; but the cat was used 
to draughts, and did not mind. He only gave his 
ear a little nervous jerk, as if he fancied it were 
summer, and a fly were biting him; though he 
knew better if he had only stopped to think, for 
here was the fire, and outside was the snow blow¬ 
ing, and the breath of air that had touched his 
tail was decidedly cold. There were other rea¬ 
sons too. His mistress had not taken that pile 
of books and started off to school for three whole 
days. By that he knew it was the winter vaca¬ 
tion. Then, had not old Mr. and Mrs. Updike, of 
whom he and his mistress rented their rooms, 
gone away that very morning to spend the holi¬ 
days with their daughter Hepzibah, leaving them 
alone in the house, except for Peter Kelly, who 
was probably at that moment sitting in his room 
over the kitchen, his chair tilted back against the 
wall, and looking straight at the spluttering flame 
of his candle. 

And why didn’t his mistress go away to spend 
the holidays, and not stay all the happy Christ- 


340 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


raastide shut up in her little room with her cat ? 
Well, in the first place, she couldn’t afford to go 
away. She was just a poor little school-teacher, 
with a very small salary, barely enough to support 
herself and her cat; for a cat she would have, she 
said, if she had to go without something herself. 
Secondly, she couldn’t leave her cat. Who would 
take care of it ? Not Mrs. Updike, for she hated 
cats ; and besides, she was not at home. Thirdly, 
she had nowhere to go ; and so she stayed at 
home. She had told the white cat only a few 
days ago that she was all alone in the world, and 
had dropped a bright tear on his pink ear, and he 
had twitched his head in surprise. She was no 
worse off in that respect than he was, and he was 
contented. He saw no further need for any one 
in the world besides himself and her, except, per¬ 
haps, the milkman. 

But at that moment the front door opened and 
closed with a bang : there was a sound of stamp¬ 
ing and brushing in the hall; then the mistress 
entered, and the room seemed to smile and 
brighten to receive her. Bright brown eyes, 
golden brown hair, straight nose, cheeks glowing 
with the cold and exercise, straight eyebrows, and 
small brown hands — that is Polly Bronson. And 
she wore a dark-blue flannel dress, a black jersey 
coat, black mittens, and a little black crocheted 
cap with balls on the top. The snowflakes glis¬ 
tened over all. She shook them gayly off, laid 
her parcels on the table, and went to hang up 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


341 


her things in the small bedroom adjoining. 
Coming back, she seated herself on the little 
stool, and proceeded to poke the fire, making it 
blaze up brightly. 

“ Come here, Abbott,” she said merrily, “ while 
I tell you the news.” 

The cat slowly arose, humped his back up high, 
curled his tail into an impossible position, stuck 
out each particular hair of his white coat, until he 
looked like a porcupine, and yawned. Then he 
closed one eye, and went and rubbed his head 
sideways against Polly’s foot. 

“ Oh, you lazy Abbott, wake up ! ” cried Polly, 
as she caught him in her arms and shook him 
gently. 

“ Listen, Abbott! I’ve something nice to tell 
you. To-morrow is Christmas, you know.” 

Abbott gravely winked. Polly was in the habit 
of telling her plans to him ; and he was a good 
listener, always agreeing with her. 

‘‘Well, now, if you and I were rich, Abbott, we 
would give each other presents, beautiful pres¬ 
ents. People do that at Christmas; did you know 
it ? ” 

The cat looked inquiringly at her with his 
bright green eyes. Polly’s face was a picture of 
mock gravity as she said, “ I wish I had a pres¬ 
ent to give you, my poor little cat, but I am so 
sorry I have none.” The cat looked disappointed. 
“ But you shall have an extra saucer of milk to¬ 
morrow for breakfast.” The cat brightened. 


342 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


“And, Abbott, we’ll have a party, you and I, and 
we’ll invite Susie and Mamie Bryce, and Joey 
Wilkes, and little lame Tim. They are poor little 
children, Abbott, without any Christmas at all ; 
and you must be a good cat, and play with them, 
and not go to sleep on the hearth once the whole 
evening.” 

Abbott uttered a feeble “ Meow ! ” as protest; 
but Polly went on : — 

“We can’t have a turkey, it costs too much. 
Abbott, did you know they always have tur¬ 
key Christmas? Yes, and cranberries; but you 
wouldn’t like those: they’re sour. We’ll have 
baked beans, — they’re cheap, you know, and you 
like them, — and an Indian pudding, all baked very 
nice and brown, with plenty of big, fat raisins in 
it. And, Abbott, some oysters ! Yes, really, 
just for once. They won’t cost much ; and you 
shall have two all to yourself, perhaps three! ” 

Abbott purred contentedly, and settled himself 
in her lap for another nap ; but a gust of air from 
the window sent Polly in haste to close the for¬ 
gotten shutters, and the cat concluded it was best 
to go back to the hearth. 

Just as those seven strokes had sounded from 
Polly’s bronze clock, a young man stood on the 
snowy pavement not many blocks away, hands 
in his pockets, wondering how he should spend 
Christmas Eve. He was all alone in the city, 
too, with not even a cat to cheer him. He had ac¬ 
quaintances, of course, — a few, — but what were 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


343 


they on a Christmas Eve ? Some were out of 
town ; and some were in their homes at merry¬ 
makings of their own, to which they had not 
even thought to invite him. He told himself he 
wouldn’t have gone if they had; and he ground 
his heels into the hard snow, and thought of his 
mother’s cheerful kitchen, with its wide old fire¬ 
place and pleasant Christmas odors, the dear 
father and mother and brother and little sister, 
even the cat who blinkingly thought over her 
vanished youth, gazing into the glowing fire. 
How their faces would brighten if he could walk 
in upon them now ! Indeed, he must stop such 
thoughts as these. He told himself that he wasn’t 
a baby, to expect always to be at home Christmas, 
and hang up his stocking. 

But it was cold, and he could not stand there 
much longer. Should he go back to his office ? 
No. He had endured that as long as he could for 
that evening; for John Brewer and his smiling 
wife, who rented the room just back of his, were 
having a little tea-drinking, and the peals of 
merry laughter which came from there every few 
minutes did not tend to make the young man feel 
less lonely. He scouted as quickly the idea that 
he should go to his dingy little room in the grim 
boarding-house on High Street. He would call 
on the gentleman who had left his card that day 
at the office, with the message that he had some 
important business matters to talk over with him 
at his earliest convenience. This would be as 


344 UNDER THE WINDOW. 

good a time as any to call; and the gentleman 
would be likely to be in his room, as he was a 
stranger in town. He turned and walked down 
the little alley, the nearest road to Park Avenue, 
the Grand Hotel, and the stranger. 

Half-way down the alley he discovered he could 
not recall the name of the man, for he had only 
glanced at the card hastily as it lay on his table. 
He fumbled in his pocket for it, that he might 
consult it at the next lamp-post; but a nearer 
opportunity offered itself in the shape of Polly 
Bronson’s bright little side window, and he stepped 
up to it as Polly entered with her bundles. He 
had just found the right card when he heard the 
cheery voice calling: “ Abbott, come here ! ” 
Of course he looked up; and of course, having 
seen and heard so much, it was not in nature 
for a lonely man to be in haste to tramp off to 
make a business call on a stranger. He saw in 
that fireplace a little of the home cheer of 
mother’s hearth ; he saw in the white cat’s face 
something of the thoughtfulness of the home cat ; 
he saw in the young girl—well, I’m not sure 
what he saw in her ; you’ll have to ask him. She 
was just Polly, you know; something new and 
bright and beautiful. 

Yes, he stood and watched the pretty tableau 
enacted before him. He let his eyes rove around 
the little room, and he called it pretty ! He did 
not know the curtains were cheese-cloth and the 
ribbons dyed. He heard every word that Polly 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


345 


said, too, — for you remember the window was 
down from the top, — from the presents down to 
the Indian pudding and the oysters, and wished 
with all his heart that he was poor little Tim, or 
somebody who could be invited to that party. 
Listening? He never thought of such a thing. 
Indeed, he did not think of anything but the in¬ 
teresting picture and the story that had unfolded 
itself right before his eyes. 

He did recover his senses sufficiently to re¬ 
member that he was not invisible when Polly 
came toward the window, and he stepped back 
into the shadow. There was a sort of blank when 
the shutters were closed and the cheery room was 
shut from his view. He did not feel in the least 
like making that call now. It was scarcely five 
minutes, and yet he felt that he had some new 
friends in the city. He had a feeling of pity for 
the lonely girl; and so in thinking of others, lost 
sight of his own loneliness. 

He very soon discovered that he was standing 
in a snowbank. Stamping himself out of it, he 
took his way mechanically to the Grand Hotel, 
thinking, meanwhile, of what he had seen, reading 
between the lines of the bit of a story he had been 
allowed to hear. He was relieved to find that the 
gentleman of whom he was in search was not in, 
and went to his boarding-house with a pleasant 
little plan taking shape in his brain. It was too 
bad that the little girl should not have any Christ¬ 
mas present, he thought. What if he should send 


346 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


her one himself ? It did not seem exactly the 
right thing, to send an anonymous present to a 
young lady who had never seen him ; but there 
certainly could be no harm in sending one to a 
cat. Nobody ever heard of there being any harm 
in that. 

Very early on Christmas morning, when few in 
the city were stirring, only the milk-wagon or the 
baker’s cart rattling over the frosty stones of the 
street, and now and then a sleepy clerk taking 
down shutters and opening doors, he was walking 
with a brisk step toward a flower-store kept by 
a little old lady of whom he had once or twice 
bought flowers to send to his mother. He bought a 
wealth of roses this morning,—great yellow Mare- 
chal Niels, delicate Safranas only half-way open, 
and buds of Bon Silines with their wonderful per¬ 
fume. Then he selected a satin ribbon of faint 
green tinge for the old lady to fasten them to¬ 
gether with, and the whole was put in the prettiest 
white basket, well wrapped in cotton and white 
tissue paper, and a card fastened to the handle : 
“ For my friend Abbott, with a very Merry Christ¬ 
mas.” 

Then the young man walked with a smiling face, 
and calmly deposited the basket on Mr. Samuel 
Updike’s front doorstep and retreated, wishing 
much that he dared remain and watch the out¬ 
come. Polly, who was allowing herself nice long 
holiday sleeps, slept on with one brown hand 
under a rosy cheek, and never dreamed that there 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


347 


was a something on her doorstep that would fill 
her with delight and wonder all that day, and for 
many days after. But Abbott must have heard 
a noise; for he shivered a little, opened one eye-at 
the dying fire, wondered why his mistress did not 
get up, then rolled to the edge of the rug nearest 
the fire, and went to sleep again. 

Polly did wake up by and by, made up the fire, 
and got breakfast. After breakfast Abbott sat 
on the hearth licking his whiskers and washing 
his paws, and thinking how very nice it was to 
have an extra saucer of milk, while Polly brushed 
up the room, opened the windows, and stood the 
hall door and the front door wide open. There 
was the basket! Polly’s exclamation brought 
Abbott to the door. He thought it must be 
another milkman, and he always went to meet 
the milkman, unless it rained. He sniffed around 
the basket, and looked as curious as his mistress 
while she read the card aloud. 

“ Why, Abbott ! It’s a Christmas present for 
you ! But who sent it ? and what is it ? Where 
did you get a friend that I don’t know about ? It 
certainly isn’t Mr. or Mrs. Updike, or Peter Kelly, 
or the milkman ; and I’m sure I don’t know who 
else knows you. O Abbott, I wish you could 
talk ! ” 

Abbott tried to let her know by eyes and ears, 
as well as a cat can, that if he could talk he could 
give her no information on the subject. 

“Let’s open it, Abbott.” 


348 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


Thereupon the cat and basket were transferred 
to the sofa. Amid many exclamations the roses 
came to light, filling the little room with their 
elegant fragrance. Polly caught the cat up, and 
kissed the very tip of his pink ear. It was dread¬ 
ful, I know; but then Polly was very happy, and 
she had no one else to kiss. 

“You dear cat! you shall invite your friend to 
the party, so you shall, if you will give the invita¬ 
tion.” 

Perhaps Abbott understood, for he went to the 
door and sat looking out. Presently he walked 
down the steps and over the snowy path, putting 
each paw down carefully, lest it might get too 
much mixed with the snow. When he reached 
the gate he gave one spring to the top of the gate¬ 
post, and paused a moment, looking up and down 
the street, and then, seeming to decide which way 
he would go, sprang down, and trotted off as 
though he had business that would require haste. 

Polly talked to everything that morning while 
she worked. She called to Abbott at the door 
that he should wear the green ribbon to the party ; 
and he looked back and winked assent as he put 
the first velvet paw into the snow. She told the 
vases that they were dear, beautiful things, and 
she was glad at last that there was something for 
them to hold, and she hoped they would keep 
them very carefully a long time. Polly worked 
fast, and was soon ready to go out to do her mar¬ 
keting and give her invitations. She decided to 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


349 


have her party at night; because Mamie Bryce 
had to go down on Sycamore Street and take 
care of Mrs. Dobell’s baby, while Mrs. Dobell 
went to a dinner-party, and she could not get 
back until four o’clock. So Polly told them all to 
come at five; and their eyes shone brightly as 
they promised. 

It was beginning to grow dark. Little flurries 
of snow filled the air. The young man — Porter 
Mason was his name — hurried along the street, 
hands in his pockets, collar turned up, and hat 
drawn over his eyes. He had been away off to 
the other end of the city on some good errand or 
other; was cold and tired and hungry, and it was 
still a long walk to his boarding-house. He was 
wondering if he should dare to venture around to 
that alley again when it grew quite dark; if 
the window blinds would be open; if he should 
see the roses anywhere; and if the party would 
be over. In a lull between the chime of sleigh- 
bells came a faint “ Meow ! ” and he looked 
sharply around. The “ Meow-ow-ow-ow ! ” came 
more distinctly now; and soon just ahead of him 
he spied a weary white form moving dejectedly 
through the fast-falling snow. He stooped and 
picked it up, brushing the snow off, and holding it 
up to the light of a near street-lamp. 

“ I believe you are the very cat! ” he said, 
speaking aloud; “but how in the world did you 
get here ? Is your name Abbott ? ” 

“ Meow ! ” said the cat. 


350 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


“All right, then; you’re my friend. Jump 
right in here and make yourself comfortable.” 
He opened his big overcoat, and tucked the cat 
snugly in. “ I shouldn’t wonder if I had my invi¬ 
tation, after all,” he told himself as he went on 
briskly. 

Within Polly Bronson’s cheery room all was not 
as serene as might have been. The little party 
had assembled, and were sitting on the edges of 
their chairs, undergoing the first embarrassment of 
arrival; but there was a shadow besides embarrass¬ 
ment over them. The trouble was that two of 
them were missing. The one was the guest little 
Tim, and the other was the host himself, Abbott. 
Tim could not come, because his father was too 
drunk to carry him, and the streets were too slip¬ 
pery to trust him with his little crutch. His 
mother would have brought him, for it was his 
first bit of pleasure for many a day ; but she, poor 
soul, was on her back, scarcely able to wait upon 
herself. Nobody knew what had become of Ab¬ 
bott. 

That is the way matters stood when Porter 
Mason rang the bell of the Updike house, which so 
startled Susie and Mamie Bryce and Joey Wilkes 
that they all huddled together on one chair, like 
so many frightened pease in a pan when the pan is 
suddenly tipped up. Mr. Mason had gone straight 
to the little lane side window, and found the shut¬ 
ters closed. Now what should he do ? Would it 
be safe to risk a peep in at the front window ? 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


35 


Suppose the real Abbott were inside, snug and 
warm by the fire ? How foolish he would feel ap¬ 
pearing at the door of a strange young lady, in 
the dark of a snowy night, and saying, “ Have 
you lost a cat, madam ? ” without giving a reason 
for supposing that she had a cat. 

He stood in the snowbank again and thought, 
and kitty purred under his warm coat. He might 
say that he had once, when passing, seen a cat 
there. It wasn’t in the least likely that the 
young lady would question him as to the circum¬ 
stances under which he had seen the cat, and she 
would in all probability suppose him to have seen 
it on the doorstep. He concluded to risk this 
statement, and so boldly rang the bell. 

Polly hurried to the door. She was not in the 
habit of having evening callers. The door, being 
opened, let in such a whirlwind of snowflakes that 
Polly could distinguish nothing in the gathering 
darkness save the tall form of a man powdered 
with snow from head to foot. He was taking off 
his hat and saying in a pleasant voice, “ Have 
you lost a cat ? ” As he said it he cast an anx¬ 
ious glance through the half-open door to the 
glowing fireplace, and was relieved to see no cat 
there. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” her senses having come back to 
her. “ Won’t you come in ? Do you know where 
he is?” 

“I found one on the street; and, remembering 
to have seen one at this house, I brought it here.” 


352 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


He was unbuttoning his coat now, and handed 
Abbott, warm and somewhat damp, to his mis¬ 
tress. 

“Oh, thank you so much!” she said as she 
took him. “I’m so glad to get him back. I was 
troubled about him when it began to snow so 
hard. I was afraid he was lost.” 

She paused and looked up. Abbott’s rescuer 
looked very cold and blue as he stood there in 
the chilly hall. Perhaps he had come out of his 
way to bring the cat, she thought. He had a 
chilly feeling at his heart too; he began to think 
that it was time he should say, “You’re quite 
welcome; good-evening,” and bow himself out, and 
go to his cold, dingy room. He seemed to see 
the supper to which he would presently be called, 
remnants of the departed dinner. He glanced 
again into the cheery room, and then was about to 
bow his good-evening, when Polly’s voice inter¬ 
rupted, — 

“Won’t you come in to the fire and get warm ? 
You must be very cold.” 

Polly never thought of being afraid to ask a 
stranger in. She was never afraid of anything. 
She was twenty-two, and had taken care of herself 
for nearly five years, and she felt as if nothing in 
the world could harm her. Then there were the 
children ; and ’she had a secure sense of Peter 
Kelly in his back chamber over the kitchen. Be¬ 
sides, had not this stranger done her a kindness; 
and did she not owe something to him ? And he 


UNDER THE WINDOW., 


353 


had kind eyes, and a gentle hand with the kitten. 
There are always reasons enough when a bright 
girl does anything. 

But she was surprised when, instead of saying, 
“No, I thank you,” he hesitated, and said, “May 
I ? ” 

Polly, with glowing cheeks, ushered her caller 
into the bright room, and seated him in the rock¬ 
ing-chair, hardly knowing what to make of him, or 
what to do with him when she got him there. 
But the children helped her with their gleeful ex¬ 
clamations over the lost-and-found cat. Abbott, 
however, slipped from their caressing hands, and 
retired to the hearth to make his toilet. He was 
a neat cat, and did not like to appear before com¬ 
pany with his white coat all stiff and rough. 

“ Where did you say you found him ? ” 
questioned Polly. Mr. Mason did not say, but 
launched into a full description of Abbott’s pitiful 
cries and forlorn appearance, until the question 
was forgotten in a merry round of laughter, in 
which Polly joined, spite of herself, although she 
had determined to be very dignified. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Susie when the laughter had 
somewhat subsided, “wouldn’t we be having just 
a lovely time if Tim was only here.” 

“Yes,” said Mamie, the laughter all sobered out 
of her face; “ he stood at the top of the stairs, 
and cried and cried when we came down.” And 
even stout little Joey Wilkes said it was “just too 
awful mean for anything.” 


354 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


“ And who is Tim ? ” asked the stranger visitor, 
as soon as there was any chance for him to speak. 

The children burst into full explanation of the 
case, all together of course, and it was some time 
before he could understand. Even then he was 
left in doubt as to whether more sorrow had been 
felt for Abbott, or for little Tim with his drunken 
father. He arose at last, and turned to Polly, — 

“ Having brought back one of the missing 
guests, it becomes needful that I should complete 
my good work, and bring the other. It would be 
a pity to have the perfection of this party spoiled 
by the shadow of an absent guest. Can you di¬ 
rect me where to find this boy ? ” 

He buttoned up his coat, and the children 
danced for joy and clapped their hands, crying, 
“Goody, goody!” and Joey whispered to Mamie, 
“ Ain’t he just a daisy, though ? ” Joey was a 
little street-boy, with no mother to teach him 
better. 

Polly’s face was beaming all over with a pleased 
surprise ; but she tried to draw up her slipping 
cloak of dignity, and say, “ Oh, no! you really 
must not go to that trouble for us this stormy 
night.” 

Mr. Mason, however, would listen to no such 
talk, and was presently possessed of the desired 
information. He turned to go, then stopped, 
fumbling in his pockets ; but as no card was to be 
found, he produced a bit of folded pasteboard, say¬ 
ing, “ I have no card with me, but will this do as 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


355 


well ? My name is the fourth one on the list 
of leaders, and when I come back we’ll get Tim to 
introduce us.” 

The well-known letters “ Y. P. S. C. E.” met 
her eyes from the cover of the card, and below, 
“ Hartford Square Church.” A little smile played 
over her face. She need not be quite so dignified 
now that she knew so much about him. Turn¬ 
ing to the next page, she ran over the list of lead¬ 
ers and their subjects* especially the fourth one. 
She laid the card on the shelf, and went back 
to her oil-stove. The pudding was just in the act 
of taking on the last delicate shades of brown, and 
needed watching. She hastened to set her table, 
putting one more plate on ; for, she told herself, 
she supposed that young man must be invited 
to supper, after he had taken so much trouble for 
them. Then she bethought herself of Peter 
Kelly. 

Now, Peter was of that nondescript age when 
one does not know what to call him. It seemed 
strange to designate him as a young man; and yet 
he was not a boy, nor an old man, nor even a mid¬ 
dle-aged man ; and — yes, he certainly must be 
a young man; but it seemed so odd to call him 
that. He had colorless hair and expressionless 
eyes. The world had not used him badly; indeed, 
it had not used him much at all either way, and 
he had not used it ; therefore he had no identity 
with it. Peter was connected with the Hartford 
Square Church ; that is, he swept the floors and 


356 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


looked after the rooms — was, in short, janitor. 
Remembering this, she filled a plate with some 
baked beans and one slice of the delicate toast 
that stood ready for the hot oysters, and pouring 
a cup of steaming coffee, she went with swift 
steps to the back chamber, and knocked. 

The front legs of Peter’s chair came to the floor 
with a bang, and he sat with his mouth wide open, 
staring at the door, after giving his gruff, “ Come 
in.” 

Polly entered, setting down her burden by the 
candle side, and saying rapidly, “I’ve brought 
you some of my baked beans ; they’re hot, and 
I thought you might like them, Peter.” 

She never knew what sort of thanks he stam¬ 
mered out. She was busy thinking how she 
should put her question. 

“ Peter, do you know any one at the Hartford 
Square Church by the name of Mason ? ” 

This was as near the name as she would come. 
She would not have dared so much if he had been 
like some people ; but talking to Peter was much 
like talking to Abbott. He would never put two 
and two together, or wonder why she had asked 
such a question. 

“ Wal, yas,” said Peter, diverted from his aston¬ 
ishment; “ thar’s two on ’em. Thar’s John,— 
he’s a carpenter; an’ thar’s Porter, — he’s a law’er. 
I reckon you mean him. Is he tall an’ han’some ? 
great big eyes an’ black hair, an’ alius a good 
word said jes’ so’s to help most ? ”, 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 357 

“ I think he must be the gentleman I have met,” 
said Polly demurely. 

“ Wal, he’s a mighty nice feller; give me a 
ticket to a church supper th’ other evenin’. He’s 
awful smart, too, an’ good. They do say he 
wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with a case Judge 
Granger give him, cause he thought it wa’n’t 
right; an’ he ain’t rich, neither. But you’d just 
ought to hear him pray ! Thar’s alius a big meetin’ 
up to the C. E. when he leads.” 

Polly had all the information she wanted now, 
and made haste to get away, amid a shower of 
rough thanks from Peter. She went gleefully to 
her room, and found the children so busy with a 
picture-book that they had scarcely noticed her 
absence. So she knelt by the fireplace, and as¬ 
sisted Abbott in his toilet; for he found it more 
of a job than he cared to do at one time, to dry 
and comb all that wet white hair of his. When 
at last he was dry and smooth, Polly tied the rich 
green ribbon around his neck, much to the delight 
of the children, stuck a Safrana bud in the bow, 
set him upon the stool; and there he sat when Mr. 
Mason and Tim came, the long ends of shining 
satin reaching to his toes, holding his chin very 
high, either from the choking sensation of the 
broad ribbon, or pride in his rich apparel; prob¬ 
ably pride, for he seemed quite contented, and 
sat purring at the children with his eyes half 
closed. 

Porter Mason, with happy Tim mounted on his 


358 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


shoulder, came to a sudden halt before a large 
fruit-store. 

“Tim, would you like to take Miss Bronson a 
Christmas present?” he asked. 

They had been talking of her all the way along, 
and Tim had said he loved her next best to his 
mother in all the world. They were pretty well 
acquainted by this time, so Tim answered, — 

“ You just bet! Wouldn’t I, though ? ” 

“ All right. We’ll go in here, and you shall 
choose what it shall be.” 

It almost took Tim’s breath away to see so many 
good things together ; but after grave consideration 
he pointed to a box of great white California 
grapes. You might have thought Mr. Mason ex¬ 
travagant for a man who “wasn’t rich” if you’d 
heard his order to the clerk ; but little Tim was 
very happy, and his companion looked none the 
less so. 

“Well, Miss Bronson,” said Mr. Mason, after 
they were fairly in, and Tim had presented his 
gift, “ is the conveyance to be allowed to stay to 
the party, or must I go outside and paw the pave¬ 
ment until my services are needed again ?—or I 
might go off and come back at a certain hour?” 

What could Polly do but give him a gracious 
invitation, and lay aside altogether her cloak of 
dignity ? 

So he took his coat and hat to the hall, and made 
himself quite at home, telling the children stories, 
and giving them such a gay time, while Polly 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


359 


cooked the oysters, that they forgot how hungry 
they were. They had a great time getting seated 
at the table. Polly actually ventured to borrow 
four of Mrs. Updike’s best splint-bottomed kitchen 
chairs, and they all went after them except Tim 
and Abbott, who sat and smiled at one another 
while they were gone. But they were seated at 
last, and then came a moment Polly was not alto¬ 
gether prepared for. She had meant to ask a 
blessing. She always did when by herself, and 
she wanted not to leave God out before these 
children, and on Christmas night ; but here was 
this stranger. Could she ask him ? 

Polly’s daring spirit came uppermost. She 
looked up and said quietly, “Will you ask a 
blessing ? ” 

Then what a light of pleasure and surprise rushed 
into the eyes that met hers. He bowed his head, 
and his few earnest, clear-spoken words to God 
astonished the children more than his stories had 
done. They were evidently not used to this. 

While Polly was pouring out coffee, Mr. Mason 
questioned the children, and found they knew al¬ 
most nothing at all about Christmas; so he prom¬ 
ised to tell them the true story of it after tea, 
and they gave themselves up to the delights of 
their plates. 

“ Miss Bronson promised to sing some too,” 
said Susie Bryce, with her mouth full of beans. 
Now, Polly did not intend to keep that promise, 
with the stranger there to listen; so she passed 


360 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


him the sugar, and asked Tim if he would have 
some more oysters. The Indian pudding was 
hailed with joy, and pronounced by Mr. Mason 
“just as good as his mother’s.” Then they 
finished off with some of those luscious grapes. 
Such a treat they were to Polly, and to the chil¬ 
dren something wonderful. Abbott had his three 
oysters, and enjoyed them as much as anybody. 

After supper, while Polly was clearing off the 
table, the children had their story. Polly, going 
about her work very softly, that she might lose 
none of it, told herself that she did not wonder 
that they liked to come to meeting when he led, 
if he talked like that. When she had finished 
she sat down very quietly, but the story was just 
closing, and Mr. Mason turned to her and said, 
“ Now may we have the song, Miss Bronson ? ” 

Polly did not wish, did not intend, to sing to 
him. She had “ No ” written all over her pretty, 
flushed face, despite the children’s eager plead¬ 
ings, until Mr. Mason said, “ I think I shall have 
to go out and stand in the snow, after all, for I 
don’t want the children to lose their pleasure 
because of me.” 

Polly somehow had to sing then; and though 
her voice trembled some, it was sweet and clear 
as she sang: 

“ Little stars that twinkle in the heavens blue, 

I have often wondered if you ever knew 

How there rose one like you, leading wise old men 

From the east, through Judah, down to Bethlehem? 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


36I 


Did you watch the Saviour all those years of strife? 

Did you know for sinners, how he gave his life? 

Little stars that twinkle in the heavens blue, 

All you saw of Jesus, how I wish I knew.” 

Then Polly stopped ; and she would not sing 
again for all their coaxing, for she had been too 
conscious of those eyes that had watched her so 
closely during the singing to try again. So she 
started some games, and they had a gay frolic 
until the clock on the mantel warned them that 
it was getting late, and Mr. Mason told little Tim 
it was time for his carriage to take him home. 
The children sighed that the happy time was 
over. Tim was made glad by some of the grapes 
and a rosebud or two for his sick mother. Polly 
bundled him up, and gave each of the children a 
rose, and then they were ready to go. 

Mr. Mason gravely walked up to the fire, where 
weary Abbott, in spite of his elegance, had suc¬ 
cumbed to the warmth and the remembrance of 
a delicious supper, and had gone to sleep. But 
he was a polite cat, and as Mr. Mason came up, 
let him shake hands, or paws, with him. 

Tim was mounted once more on his shoulder ; 
Polly’s hand was taken for just a second, and — 
“ He had enjoyed it all so much ; might he come 
again soon, and make a party call ? ” 

Of course she had to say yes; and then, with 
Susie and Mamie just behind, and Joey Wilkes 
scudding on ahead, they started out into the snow, 
and the party was ended. 


362 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


Yes, he came very soon to make the call; and 
then he wanted to come again and again, until it 
grew to be a settled thing for him to run in once 
or twice a week with a bit of a poem for her to 
read, or a book to talk over. In those days she 
had roses sent to her, instead of to her cat; she 
was taken out to Sabbath-evening meetings quite 
often, and now and then to a concert or a lec¬ 
ture. Abbott was left alone, which he did not 
like after having kept house all day. As spring 
came on there were violets and anemones, and 
once a lovely ride to the woods on a Saturday 
afternoon ; and no telling what there might not 
have been, for school was about to close, had 
not a note come from the mother of a former 
pupil, saying that her little daughter was very 
sick, could not live long, and had a fancy for 
having her dear Miss Bronson with her, which 
the doctor said should be gratified. Would she 
come to them as soon as possible ? 

Polly sighed ; packed away her bronze clock 
and marble vases ; packed up the things she must 
take with her; waited a whole day hoping some¬ 
body would call; then gave Abbott into the 
keeping of a quaint little new neighbor; gave 
special directions to Mrs. Updike to say to who¬ 
ever called that she had been summoned to a sick 
friend and would probably be back soon, and 
went. 

It was not a long journey, fifty miles or so, 
and the little pupil was very glad to see her. She 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


363 


grew no better as the days went by. It soon 
became evident that Polly could not be spared, 
for Bessie was not happy a moment unless her 
teacher was by her side. The mother was an 
invalid herself, who made her little girl worse by 
her melancholy speeches; so, although Polly was 
longing to be at home, she did not feel as if 
she ought to go. She stayed, and Bessie grew 
day by day weaker, but lingered on until the 
summer was drawing near its close, and the win¬ 
ter school-term was about to begin ; then she 
slipped into heaven, leaving Polly, who had made 
the way bright for her, almost worn out with 
loss of sleep and confinement to the sick-room. 
She hurried home to begin school-life again. She 
unpacked the clock and vases, and re-established 
Abbott, who walked round and round her, purring 
and rubbing his head against her, trying as best 
he could to tell that he did not like boarding, 
and was glad to be at home again. When Polly 
received the key of her room, and asked if there 
had been any one to call, she gained only a sen¬ 
tence about a tall man who “kep’ a cornin’and 
that was all the news of home she had. 

Porter Mason had been very lonely after Polly 
left. He had called many times to see her; but 
Mrs. Updike never knew her address, and now, 
just as Polly had come home, he had been called 
away on business. When he finally reached 
home he found such a quantity of matters await¬ 
ing his attention that he had no time to think 


364 UNDER THE WINDOW. 

of doing anything for pleasure. So it happened 
that Polly had been at home for three weeks 
without once having seen Mr. Mason. 

One evening she took Abbott in her arms and 
went to the front door. The air was chilly and 
hazy, as late September is apt to be. The stars 
were not nearly as bright as usual. They had 
no sparkle. They looked as if they had all gone 
away to spend the evening, and had left only a 
dim light in the window. It was lonesome and 
cold. She shivered, and dropped a few tears on 
Abbott’s thick coat. She did not hear the brisk 
steps coming down the street as she went in and 
shut the door ; but they came on, right to Polly’s 
bright little window, which had been so dark 
for many a day when those same steps had 
sounded down the street. And when Mr. Mason 
came in he took Polly’s two hands in his own 
and held them, — Abbott had his back turned, 
looking into the fire, — and when he had made 
her quite comfortable on the sofa, he sat down 
beside her, and told her something ; but we must 
not hear it. If you have heard such words your¬ 
self, you understand ; if you have not, wait until 
your turn comes to know. 

What did Polly say ? Why, she said it to Mr. 
Mason ; and no one, not even Abbott, for he 
was asleep, heard, and Mr. Mason never told. 

They both went to the cheerful home among 
the hills to spend their next holidays, and make 
glad the hearts of the dear father and mother 


UNDER THE WINDOW. 


36 s 


and brother and little sister and the other cat. 
Abbott, much to his disgust, was obliged to spend 
his holidays with the quaint little neighbor; and 
when his mistress came back she took him to 
another part of the town to live, where the fa¬ 
miliar objects were all about him. There was 
a rug that he always lay on, crocheted out of 
strips of silk; and the yellow stripes were the 
yellow ribbons that used to hold back the cheese¬ 
cloth curtains. He thought it rather queer that 
Polly never went to school any more, and that 
the tall stranger stayed all the time now; but he 
liked him, and so it was all right. He had all 
the beefsteak and milk and oysters he wanted, 
and could wear a green ribbon and rosebuds any 
day if he chose — so he told the cats of the 
neighborhood. 

And so the old room has seen the story ; has 
helped it along, as it has helped many before, and 
stands again waiting, all alone, except for the big 
black spider who is hanging her delicate dra¬ 
peries in all the corners. It waits for some one 
to enter and bring life and beauty to it again. 






THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ QHELLS are all very well on a seashore, with 
O white sand about, and a fresh breeze blow¬ 
ing ; but in this stuffy little room on the mantel¬ 
piece, in a wooden butterdish, and considered in 
the light of an ornament — that is too much! 
Ugh!” 

The exclamation was apparently addressed to 
a very fat cockroach who stood in the middle 
of the room watching the new occupant, perhaps 
to see how he was going to like her. So far he 
had been well pleased with her appearance. She 
was small and slight; and though she had a rather 
determined mouth, she looked as though her foot 
would not be so very heavy if it should happen 
to come down upon his head. She had been in to 
look at the room in the morning, had hired it and 
gone away; and now, just as the gray, drizzly day 
was drawing to its close, she had come back to it, 
taken off her hat and jacket and thrown them on 
the bed. It must have been his fixed gaze that 
attracted her attention, but as soon as she had 
367 



368 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


uttered that last word she gathered up her neat 
travelling-dress and started toward him. Her 
visitor rose up on his hind legs, and pranced off 
toward the bed, keeping one eye upon her feet all 
the time, however. She was quick-motioned, and 
stooped to strike him under the edge of the bed ; 
but by the time her eyes had reached the level of 
the floor the cockroach had disappeared from view, 
and there was nothing to be seen but a stretch 
of faded ingrain carpet. 

She was too weary to continue the search, and 
so came back to the contemplation of the mantel¬ 
piece with its wooden dish of dusty exiles. Over 
the mantel hung an engraving of a wooden-faced 
old baby and a prim little girl with one foot under 
her, sewing. It was framed in black walnut, with 
a carved leaf at each corner, and the words 
“Watching Baby” inscribed beneath. About 
the wall were its companions, framed in like man¬ 
ner. There was a chalk-faced woman with a low- 
necked dress and a sheet over the top of her 
head, gazing up into the sky with a sorrowful 
expression, called “Meditation.” There also was 
that touching scene named “ The Soldier’s Fare¬ 
well,” where a stiff man and woman were clasped 
in each other’s arms, with the various other stiff 
members of the family ranged about them. The 
girl turned from them in disgust, and with a 
curling lip, which had in it more of weariness than 
of contempt, began to survey the rest of the room. 
The bedstead, bureau, and washstand were imita- 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


369 


tion cherry, and looked brisk and new, as if they 
could do cheap honors quite gracefully; but the 
fireplace had been covered with a thick coat of 
dull, black paint, and looked discouraged, while 
the grate was one-sided, and imparted to the 
tongs and coal-scuttle a sort of down-in-the-mouth 
appearance. The table was a shackly old one 
belonging to another set, and covered with a 
moth-eaten red cloth with dirty cretonne storks 
sewed on by way of decoration. There was a 
cheese-box covered with a dark-green felt in 
front of the window, and that was all besides the 
two chairs and the occupant. There was a sort 
of despair in her face as she finished the inven¬ 
tory. The room was cheap, and had a good-sized 
clothes-press, and that was all that could be said 
in its favor. She tried to remember how much 
better this was than many a room which she had 
looked at, and to be thankful for having found this ; 
but visions of a dainty white room furnished luxu¬ 
riously, with all her precious belongings scattered 
about it, would come and imprudently contrast 
themselves with her present surroundings. How 
would her handsome jewel-case look standing on 
that miserable stork table-spread ? But then she 
remembered that the elegant thing had been sold 
with everything else, and that there would be no 
need for it to associate with low-bred storks. 
Tears filled her eyes, and she went to the small- 
paned window to find some other occupation for 
her thoughts ; but there came a knock at the door, 


370 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


and the announcement: “Your trunk has come, 
Miss; and the man says, Where will he put it ? ” 

When the trunk was unstrapped, and the man 
paid and gone, she went back to the window 
again. The street was quite dark now, and 
lights glinted about everywhere. She could see 
the tops of the heads as they passed the street- 
lamp in front of the house. The hum and buzz 
of the wicked, busy city sent a shiver over her. 
It seemed a hundred times more terrible to hear 
it through the dark. She went back over her 
dreadful experience of the past few weeks. It 
did not seem possible that it had all happened to 
her, and she did not feel as if she could bear it. 
Perhaps it was a dreadful dream, and she would 
wake up to-morrow morning and find it past, and 
herself back in her own pretty room, with the 
door open into her mother’s, and all her bright 
hopes hers again. But it was with the desolate 
conviction in her heart that such could never be, 
that she must go on and bear her sorrow always, 
that she turned and went in search of the slouchy 
Irish girl, to petition for a lamp, as there seemed 
to be no gas in the room. 

Her story was like many she had read; but she 
had thought it could not happen to her, — the sud¬ 
den death of her mother, and shortly after that of 
her father ; then the discovery that the money, 
which they had thought almost unlimited, was 
swept away, and that even the home must be 
given up. A familiar story, yet new and terrible 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


371 


to each one who passes through it. When she 
found that she must do something to earn her 
own living, she would have none of the ways that 
other girls in her position and with her accom¬ 
plishments would have chosen. 

“ No,” she said to a friend who tried to reason 
with her; “I can’t do any of those things well 
enough, and I don’t like to do them. Besides, 
places of that sort are full to overflowing already. 
If- I knew how to cook I would find a place as 
housekeeper somewhere; but I don’t. I can’t do 
anything well but trim hats and bonnets ! ” 

And trim hats and bonnets she would, despite 
all that could be said. She had done it for herself 
and her friends for years, and had always been 
said to have good taste. No one could place a 
feather or a bit of lace more gracefully. 

Neither would she stay among her acquaint¬ 
ances and do her work; for she had found that in 
the general loss of home and money she had lost 
with them also some friends who had been counted 
as her very nearest and dearest. There was a 
pain in her heart to be fought with, and she 
longed to get away from everything familiar, and 
so had come to this strange city, rented a small 
store on a not very pretentious street, and with a 
little money that was saved from the wreck she 
would buy a small stock, and try her hand at 
millinery. A “ cheap milliner,” she told herself; 
for of course she could not hope to get the pat¬ 
ronage of wealthy people at first. 


372 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


This was her first night in her new home. She 
had had a long, weary day of store and room hunt¬ 
ing, and before her were much work and worry 
before she could feel that she was really started. 
Life looked very hard to her that night. 

“ I hope yez won’t be throubled much wid the 
roaches,” said the genius who presided over 
the lamps, as she handed her a dripping, leering 
one. 

“ I thought there must be some reason for the 
cheapness,” thought the weary girl as she dragged 
herself and her wicked lamp up the two flights of 
stairs. She opened the door, and lo! they had 
come to meet her — a whole army of them, great 
and small! They vanished from her in all direc¬ 
tions, like the rays of light from the sun. She 
stood still in amazed disgust. She did not even 
attempt to catch one of them. So many cock¬ 
roaches were more than her drooping spirits felt 
able to face at once. They all disappeared mys¬ 
teriously in a moment, and left her the room. She 
looked toward the closet door tremblingly. Who 
knew how many generations of these horrid, 
shiny things were hidden behind its grim boards ? 
Would they, could they, come out and crawl over 
her when she was asleep ? This thought was too 
much. She put the lamp on the shackly table, 
closed the door, threw herself on the not over¬ 
clean bed, and cried. So a great roach found her 
when he ventured to thrust his nose out under 
the closet-door toward morning, to see why it was 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


373 

that the lamp burned so long; but he dared not 
call out his tribe that night. 

It was a bright Sabbath morning’s sun that 
peeped in and woke her a few hours later. She 
went drearily to church because she could not 
bear to spend the morning alone in that room ; 
but she sat in a very back seat, and let the min¬ 
ister’s sermon float over her head, as if it were 
something that must be gone through with, while 
she entertained bitter thoughts. She was glad 
when the long day was ended. The people in the 
dismal little boarding-house across the way where 
she took her meals were tiresome, and so different 
from those by whom she was usually surrounded! 
She rushed back to her room from dinner as soon 
as possible, refusing the invitation to remain in 
the parlor and sing with the other boarders, so 
haughtily, that Miss Bangs, who gave it, walked 
back to the piano with a face the color of her old- 
rose dress. She slept some, and unpacked some, 
and thought a great deal; and at last the day was 
gone. It was a great relief to think that she 
could go to work in the morning. 

She really enjoyed buying her stock, tiresome 
though it was. She went from one wholesale 
store to another, and would take nothing but what 
was pretty or tasteful, though many a clerk as¬ 
sured her that certain articles were “just the 
craze,” and would sell better than those she had 
chosen. She preferred good taste even to having 
“ the correct thing,” and remained firm. 


374 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


“ If I’m going to make bonnets for Irish girls, 
I’ll see if I can’t elevate their tastes. I just can¬ 
not put such ugly things together.” Thus she 
told herself as she passed by boxes and boxes of 
hideous artificial green roses and various nameless 
imitations of what never grew upon the earth. 
Cheap things she was obliged to buy, for her 
purse was limited, and besides, she expected to 
serve people who would require cheapness ; but 
there were plenty of inexpensive things that were 
also pretty. And so she spent much time and 
nerve, and at last had her little store ready for 
work. Of but one extravagance had she been 
guilty. She had found in one store a spray of 
small, white, starry blossoms, set among their 
fine, fern-like leaves, the whole thing so delicate 
and unobtrusive, and yet so natural and in such 
perfect taste, that it seemed to rest her tired eyes, 
which had all day been filled with gaudy col¬ 
ors and hideous straw shapes. They were fine 
French flowers, and very expensive. Her con¬ 
science and her judgment both rose up in horror; 
but she firmly put them down, and said to the 
clerk, “ I will take them.” Neither would she lis¬ 
ten to these aggrieved advisers when she reached 
her room and they again tried to reason with her. 

“There’s no telling but I may have some very 
aristocratic customer, and she will demand such 
flowers. Anyway, they will help me to do my 
work. It will be pleasant just to know that they 
are there. Those wall-eyed daisies that I felt 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


375 


obliged to buy won’t be able to hurt my feelings 
so much if these dainty, lovely things are in front 
of them.” Thus she spoke to her conscience and 
her judgment, and they gave up in despair. 

At last she was established. A neat sign over 
the door said MILLINERY in large letters, and 
underneath, a little smaller, “Miss M. L. Hath¬ 
away.” She disliked the sign. It sounded stiff 
and far-away, as if it were some one else who 
was being talked about, and not herself, Marion 
Hathaway. But of course she did not want to 
put that name out in the street for every one 
to see. 

It was just in the beginning of the spring 
season, and custom began to come in. The 
dainty hats and bonnets that Marion had trimmed 
and placed in the window attracted much atten¬ 
tion, they were so tasteful and unique. The 
orders came in so fast that she found she could 
not do everything herself, and must have some¬ 
one to wait upon customers. She put a little sign 
in the window, “Girl wanted;” and there followed 
a procession of girls of various kinds, not one of 
them satisfactory to the fastidious milliner. At 
last, growing desperate, she resolved to hire the 
next girl that came in, good, bad, or indifferent. 
It was not more than five minutes afterward 
when in walked Miss Maria Bates. She wore 
very big sleeves, arranged her hair in a yellow 
knob at the back of her head, with two little stiff 
curls sticking out in the centre, and a frowzle 


3 y 6 the minister’s bonnet. 

of bangs in front, and chewed gum vigorously. 
Marion’s heart sank when she saw her; but she 
remembered her resolve, and engaged her. She 
gave the new clerk careful instructions as to her 
duties, and Miss Bates smilingly chewed the while. 
Marion often wondered if she chewed gum all 
night, for she never seemed to stop in the day¬ 
time. The young milliner sat behind a calico 
curtain and trimmed, establishing her new appren¬ 
tice behind the counter, who, whenever a cus¬ 
tomer entered the store, arose, laid her hands 
upon the counter, and, chewing, awaited a word 
from the in-comer. 

It was on that same first Sunday of Marion’s 
stay in the strange city that the young minister 
of Bethany Mission proudly led up the aisle for 
the first time a woman who to him was the most 
beautiful woman in all the world. It was her first 
Sunday in this city, and he took great joy in 
having her there and escorting her to church. It 
was only his old mother. You wouldn’t have 
thought her beautiful. Her face was wrinkled, 
her hair was thin, and her bonnet looked very 
queer indeed. But her son did not think so. He 
had been in the city for years himself, and had 
seen fashionable women by the score, but it never 
occurred to him that his mother’s dress was not 
all that it should be. He had not noticed that it 
was unlike others ; and if he had, he would have 
thought her dress belonged distinctively to his 
mother , and suited her. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


3 77 


To be sure, she knew better herself, even 
though she had spent most of her life in the 
country. She had sighed, perhaps, over the faded 
shawl and wrinkled bonnet-strings that had done 
duty for many years, and wished, away down in 
her secret heart, that she might have some new 
things with which to make her advent in the city. 
But she knew that it was impossible. Even the 
money for her ticket had been hard to spare, and 
the salary from that struggling mission church 
was small. All this she knew; but she was not 
well versed in the fashions, and did not know that 
besides being old and faded, her bonnet was of a 
shape which looked, even to the members of that 
rough mission, odd, to say the least. They were 
city heathen, and knew what the fashions were, 
whatever else they did not know. It was plain 
that they expected better things of the minister’s 
mother. 

The young man proudly seated his mother and 
went to the platform. He bent his head in prayer 
a moment, and there was a note in it of tenderest 
thankfulness that at last he had his dear mother 
with him. When he raised his head he glanced 
again at the sweet, peaceful face sitting down in 
front of him. There were no wrinkles nor faded 
bonnet strings there for him. He saw only the 
happy light in the eyes he loved so well, and it 
seemed to help him. But he heard a titter ; low it 
was, but unmistakably a titter. Just back of his 
mother sat two young women. They were dressed 


378 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


in some gay figured stuff, with large hats covered 
with gaudy flowers, and they were looking through 
their thicket of frizzed bangs straight at the big 
old bonnet ahead of them, and nudging each other. 
The young minister saw it, and wondered what it 
was about. He looked at his mother’s bonnet, and 
at her. The ugly titter had brought a frown to his 
brow; but a glance at his mother’s peaceful face, 
looking up at him so proudly, cleared it away, and 
he turned to the service with a thankful heart. 

But when the sermon was ended and the last 
hymn was being sung, a shadow began to steal 
over his heart, and he wondered what was its cause. 
Some unpleasant memory seemed to be stirring. 
He glanced about the church, and his eye lighted 
upon those two girls again. Ah ! he knew now 
what it was! A foolish thing, indeed, and not 
worth troubling over ; and yet there lingered a dis¬ 
appointment in his heart that his mother had not 
inspired in others the admiration he always felt for 
her. How could one look at that dear beautiful 
face and laugh ? 

These reflections tinged the benediction with a 
little severity. He looked his mother over criti¬ 
cally on the way home, all the time trying to de¬ 
cide what it was that the girls had been laughing at. 
As they met and passed two or three women, he 
saw them smiling and looking at his mother, and 
he heard one say in a loud whisper, — 

“Just look at that ridiculous bonnet ! ” 

Then he studied that bonnet! He compared it 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


379 

with all the bonnets he passed, and he began to 
realize that there was some difference. 

“John MacFarlane!” said his mother as they 
neared the dingy house which contained the small 
rooms they called home, “that was a good sermon. 
You preach like your father, my dear. The bless¬ 
ing of the Lord be upon your work! ” and the 
mother beamed proudly up at her tall son. 

And his happy heart forgot her bonnet for a 
little. 


380 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


CHAPTER II. 

I T was a pleasant Sabbath that this mother and 
son spent together. She had but just arrived 
a day or two before, and there had been no time 
until now for one of those long talks that made 
his boyhood a tender and beautiful memory. There 
were old friends to be asked after in the country 
home, and many questions to be answered about 
his new parish work. Then they read a chapter 
in the Bible together as they had always done 
when he was a boy. As the twilight drew on, the 
mother spoke of his sermon again, and told him 
much about his father, things of which she had 
never spoken to him before. John felt as if a 
benediction had fallen upon him, and he hastened 
to his evening service with renewed zeal. Never¬ 
theless, as the working days of a new week 
dawned, he found his heart oppressed with that 
bonnet! It troubled him all through Monday, and 
he studied more ladies as they passed on the 
street. He haunted the windows of fashionable 
millinery establishments, and tried to find out 
with his untrained eye what was the matter with 
his mother’s bonnet. He told her once that if she 
needed any new things she must let him know, 
and he would give her money; and she thanked 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 381 

him, and thought of her old faded shawl and rusty 
bonnet strings, and said she guessed she could get 
along without anything yet a while. She even 
went so far as to take out her bonnet after dinner, 
and smooth out the crumpled strings, and sigh a 
little; but she put it back shortly into the clean 
little box where it had lived a long time. Poor 
old thing! It had done its best. It had seen hard 
service, and really, in its day, was neat, and even 
pretty. 

What would the dear lady have thought could 
she at that moment have seen her grave son 
standing before Madame LeFoy’s aristocratic mil¬ 
linery establishment, and looking with a puzzled, 
troubled expression at a large black tulle hat, 
rolled up triumphantly at one side, and bearing 
aloft in its gauzy arms a wealth of marvellous 
pink roses and buds, their thorny stems hanging 
gracefully over the edge of the brim ? How would 
his mother look in that thing? He wondered 
dimly how they kept those flowers so fresh. They 
certainly must be real ones. He turned to another 
and a smaller head-dress. It was all of violets, set 
close together, and bordered with their rich, dark 
leaves. There was nothing but a strap of purple 
velvet for strings, and he wondered how they tied 
it. He walked to the other window. There was 
a silver-gray bonnet with a sparkling tinsel cord 
for border, and many twinkling spears of steel oats 
gleaming among the forest of waving gray plumes 
that towered aloft. Everything else was pink and 


382 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


blue and scarlet. He turned from the window in 
despair. None of them would do for his mother. 
Other windows he looked in, with similar results, 
until it grew near the Sabbath, and he began to 
fear for his sermon. He threw himself into his 
work then, and tried to forget the fashions ; but he 
had a nervous feeling every time he thought of hav¬ 
ing that bonnet go to church. It was not that he 
was ashamed of his mother! He would have 
hated himself for such a feeling. It was that he 
was so proud of her that he could not bear to 
have her appear in something that to other eyes 
would hide the loveliness of her dear face. 

When the next Sabbath came, Mrs. MacFarlane 
was kept at home from service by a heavy cold. 
John, coming home alone that noon, was startled 
to find that there was a sort of relief in the 
thought that he had not had to preach facing that 
bonnet. He called himself all sorts of names for 
caring so much about a bonnet; but still he knew 
that it was true, and he resolved that something 
should be done about it the first thing Monday 
morning. What it was, or how it was to be 
done, he would not think now. This was the 
Sabbath Day, to which belonged no bonnets of 
any sort or description. And out of his mind 
he put it. 

But Monday morning bright and early he had a 
consultation with himself. The result was that 
he resolved to buy a new bonnet himself, and 
present it to his mother, cost what it might. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 383 

Some milliner could help him, surely; and he was 
certain he could tell what would not do, although 
he did not know just what would. He took from 
his pocket-book a slender roll of bank-notes, se¬ 
lected a two-dollar bill, and laid it on the table. 
He looked at it earnestly a minute or two, and 
then after some hesitation opened the pocket-book 
again and took out another two-dollar bill, adding 
it to the first. There was no telling what a bon¬ 
net might cost. Yes, he could spare that if it 
was necessary, and he counted the few remaining 
bills. Then he started on his mission. No min¬ 
ister of the gospel was ever sent on one more 
perplexing. 

He went into the first millinery establishment 
he came to, which proved to be Madame LeFoy’s. 
A tall, smiling girl advanced toward him, and in¬ 
quired what she could do for him. He was slightly 
bewildered. He had never been inside one of 
these places before, and the hats and bonnets 
swaying on the wire frames standing about the 
room seemed to be whirling around him in wild 
confusion. He felt as if in a moment he would 
be surrounded and wafted away somewhere in 
spite of himself. But he looked into the cold, 
steel eyes above the smiling mouth, and said, 
quite as though he were accustomed to shopping 
of this sort,— 

“ Could you show me something suitable for an 
old lady ? ” 

She led him to one of the glass cases near 


3^4 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


by, and took therefrom bonnets of various sizes, 
shapes, and colors, until the young man felt as 
if she had captured the rainbow, and was offering 
it for sale in patches. 

“ Here is one, just the thing for an old lady. 
Does she wear blue ? ” And she held aloft on 
her hand a small plat of golden-brown straw, faced 
with delicate blue, and trimmed with rich brown 
ribbon, and dreamy aigrettes of the same tint of 
blue. 

John looked at it a moment, and then said he 
did not think she did wear blue. 

“ Not wear blue ? Ah ! Then how would a 
dash of red do ? It is being worn very much 
now by old ladies — dull reds, you know,” and 
she produced a gorgeous arrangement of various 
shades of dull reds, which John thought was a 
very large “ dash ” indeed. 

He scowled at it, and looked up at the rows of 
other bonnets for relief ; but they shone with scorn 
at him out of their brilliancy. He put his hands 
in his pockets and looked down at the red dash 
thoughtfully. 

“Haven’t you something — ah, something not 
quite so— so — bright ? ” he asked. 

“ Something more subdued ? Oh, certainly ! 
Though I assure you these dull reds are quite 
the correct thing just now. A great many old 
ladies are buying them. It gives a youthful look 
to the face, you know.” 

John raised his eyes to the ceiling and waited 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 385 

during this speech, until the more subdued bonnet 
should be forthcoming. 

“ How would she like black ? Here is some¬ 
thing sober, though it is quite stylish too.” 

Black sounded hopeful. He turned to see. 
His first impression was that it was a small coal¬ 
scuttle with something stuck atop; but, as it 
came nearer, it winked and blinked hatefully at 
him, in patterns, from every tiny speck of its 
small space. The things atop seemed almost de¬ 
moniacal in their jumping and dancing, and wicked 
lights shot out unexpectedly from their perfect 
blackness. It dazzled his eyes. He did not like 
it; but what was to be done ? How did women 
get out of millinery stores, anyway, when they 
were not suited with the wares ? But then he 
remembered that he had come to buy a bonnet, 
and a bonnet he must have, whether it pleased 
him or not. A dim thought crossed his mind 
that this thing was worse than the one it was 
supposed to supplant; but he decided to vary the 
monotony by asking the price. 

“ Twenty-five dollars,” said the madame, deftly 
twirling it about on her fingers, and admiring it 
through the fringes of her eyes, “and cheap at 
that. It’s real cut jet, you know.” 

No, he didn’t know; but it didn’t matter. He 
was appalled. 

He managed to keep his face passive, however, 
and, to the madame, seemed to be considering 
the bonnet. 


336 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


“ Haven’t you something cheaper ? ” he mur¬ 
mured, half under his breath. He felt as if all 
those gay hats and bonnets were so many stylish 
ladies listening and ready to laugh. 

At that moment the door mercifully opened, 
and the steely eyes of Madame LeFoy were 
turned in another direction. He blessed in¬ 
wardly the woman with a green bonnet who en¬ 
tered. 

“ Bella! ” called the madame, “ come and show 
the gentleman those bonnets in the last case on 
the left-hand side!” and she moved toward the 
newcomer, with the jet bonnet, twinkling imp¬ 
ishly, still in her hand. 

Bella came slowly out from the maze of hats 
and bonnets with an air of “ don’t care ” about 
her. She led him to the back of the room, opened 
some glass doors, and took out a bonnet, holding 
it on her hand, and listlessly gazing out of the 
opposite window at a pile of packing-boxes in the 
back yard. She half sat on the little shelf that 
ran along below the glass, and he stood looking 
doubtfully at the rusty specimen she had placed 
before him. It was black, with a heap of feathers, 
and a few of those impish, jumping, jet things for 
trimming. 

“ How much is that ? ” 

He asked the question grimly. What did 
people do for bonnets, anyway ? 

The girl brought back her eyes from the boxes, 
and studied a ticket pinned to one of the strings. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 387 

“ Seven dollars and a half,” she drawled. 

He looked at it in dismay, as much as to say, 
“If you cost that, how can I ever find one that 
I can buy?” The bonnet seemed to lift its 
feathers with importance at him, but he turned 
away. 

“ Is that the cheapest you have ? ” 

“ Mis’ LeFoy ! ” called the girl with a nasal 
twang, “have you got anything cheaper’n this 
black bonnet here ? ” 

“What, the one with feathers and jet ? No !” 
said the madame. 

“ It’s the cheapest we have,” echoed the girl 
without moving from her seat on the shelf; but 
she raised her eyes from the boxes and set them 
upon the young man. He turned and walked out 
of the store with as much dignity as he could 
command, feeling all the time that the hats and 
bonnets were jeering at him. What should he 
do ? He could breathe better now that he was 
out of the place, and he felt thankful for that ; but 
he was no nearer the desired bonnet, apparently, 
than he had been a week before. 

He paused before several other windows on 
Fourth Street, and then went on. The ribbons 
and feathers all seemed to be laughing at him, 
and he could not bring himself to go into those 
gay places. He walked on, scarcely knowing 
where he went, turning any corner he came to, 
until he halted before Marion’s modest store. It 
was quieter here, and he could look into the win- 


388 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


dows without feeling that the passers-by were 
watching him. These hats did not look so flaunt¬ 
ing and foolish as those at Madame LeFoy’s. 
There was one small gray gauze hat in which 
nestled some tiny moss rosebuds. They looked 
like the buds that grew on the bush before the 
dear old farmhouse. He looked at them a mo¬ 
ment, enjoying their perfect likeness. Then his 
eyes rested upon the white flowers which Marion 
had wrestled with her conscience and her judg¬ 
ment to buy. They were lying against some 
black net lace, and looked dainty and quiet. He 
felt immediately that they would fit his mother’s 
face. So small and meek they looked amid their 
fine moss setting. The young man opened the 
door without more hesitation, and walked in. 

Maria Bates arose with alacrity, and chewed 
with energy. A young man at all times was an 
interesting object to her. Young gentlemen cus¬ 
tomers were rare. This young man was very fine- 
looking; and there was a dignified, high-toned 
bearing about him that penetrated even the 
brains under Maria Bates’s yellow bangs. But 
then, her practised eye noted the shiny look of 
the black coat he wore, and she decided that he 
was of no sort of account. Therefore she placed 
her hands upon the counter, and waited for him to 
open the conversation. He seemed not anxious 
to do so, however. The moment his eyes rested 
upon the smart young curl at the end of the knob 
on the back of Maria’s head, the restful assurance 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 389 

which the white flowers had brought him van¬ 
ished, and he hardly knew where to begin. 

He cleared his throat. It was apparent that 
the chewer on the other side of the counter did 
not intend to help him any. He took another 
step toward her, and cleared his throat again. 

“ I want to get ” —and then he hesitated. 

Miss Bates held her jaws midway, and waited 
for the rest of the sentence. He §craped his 
throat desperately, and began again, trying to 
make his voice sound natural. 

“ I want to get a bonnet ! ” 

His voice sounded ghastly. He realized that 
he was in a trying position. But he said it, and 
surely he had a right to buy a bonnet if he paid 
for it. He looked at Maria in defiance. She 
slowly started her jaws again before asking,— 

“ For yourself ? ” 

Marion, behind her shielding curtain, was sew¬ 
ing an obstinate feather in place and listening. 
Suddenly she drove her needle into her thumb, 
and with a jump which threw Sallie Hogan’s new 
hat under the table she stood up quickly. 

“Maria!” she called in a very determined tone. 
Maria started, and stopped chewing for several 
seconds. 

“Ma’am ! ” she answered meekly. 

“I want you to take this ribbon up to Barnes 
& Brainard’s, and match it immediately! ” 

“ Can’t just now ! I’ve got a customer ! ” she 
answered. 


390 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


“ I will attend to the customer ! I want the 
ribbon right away. Go, please, as fast as you 
can ! ” Marion said this decidedly, at the same 
time laying down her thimble and coming out 
from behind the curtain. Maria reluctantly took 
her jacket and hat from the nail in the corner, 
received her directions and departed, still chewing. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


391 


CHAPTER III. 

M ARION turned to the young man, and 
asked, — 

“ Do you wish something trimmed or un¬ 
trimmed ? ” 

Ah ! Here was a new question. How many 
there were connected with hats and bonnets! 
He knit his brows over it; and then as a picture 
floated before him of himself sitting at his study- 
table trying to trim a bonnet, his face broke into 
a smile. 

“ Trimmed, I guess,” he answered. “I fear I 
shouldn’t make much of a job at trimming it 
myself.” Then he added more soberly, “ I want 
to give it to her all ready to put on. It’s for my 
mother. She’s an old lady,—not so very old, either, 
but she has white hair. I don’t know what would 
be suitable. It seems to me that she would 
like something” — he hesitated, searching for the 
new word he had learned at Madame LeFoy’s — 
“ subdued,” he added triumphantly. 

There was no glitter of steel in Marion’s eyes. 
They were brown, and, moreover, seemed to take 
in what he said, and appreciate it. She thought 
a moment. 

“ I do not think I have anything already 


392 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


trimmed that would suit,” she answered; “ but I 
think I could get up a bonnet that would please 
you. Would you like black or gray ? ” 

He remembered the jet coal-scuttle, and was 
doubtful. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure ! ” he said desperately. 

“ Either would be quiet and suitable,” she 
said ; and, stooping to a box under the counter, she 
selected two bonnets of fine straw, one of gray 
and one of black. He took them, one in either 
hand, and looked at them. Was that the way 
they looked when the trimming was taken off? 
What remarkably innocent things they were, after 
all, he thought. 

She could have laughed at the funny expression 
on his face; but she stood quietly waiting, and 
studying him the while. She began to wonder 
what the mother was like. There was something 
touching in this grave-looking young man buying 
a bonnet for his mother. 

“ How would you fix — how would you trim 
them ? ” he asked after a moment. 

She took some ribbon and lace and a bit of vel¬ 
vet, and deftly laid them upon the bonnets. He 
was amazed to see what a difference it made in 
the hideous shapes. 

“Then you might have some small flowers be¬ 
sides,” she said. 

“Flowers? Yes,” he said, recollecting; “I 
saw some flowers in the window there that I liked 
very much,” and he took two strides forward, and 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


393 


peered helplessly through the muslin curtain that 
separated the show window from the room. She 
drew the curtain aside, curious to see what was 
his taste in flowers. To her pleased surprise he 
pointed to the one rare spray of delicate blossoms. 
With a strange feeling she took them up, and 
placed them first upon one bonnet and then upon 
the other. He surveyed them with satisfaction. 

“Yes; I like those,” he said. “I think they 
would please mother. They are like some flowers 
that used to grow in the garden at home.” 

“ Which color do you prefer ? ” she asked. 

“ Which do you think would be most suitable ? ” 
he answered. 

“ How old is your mother ? ” she asked again, 
smiling. “If you would tell me how she looks 
I could judge better.” 

“ She is about sixty. Her hair is white — but 
her face doesn’t look old — she isn’t very large — 
I never thought exactly how she does look — but 
she has a very sweet, dear face,” he answered 
tenderly, hesitating between the sentences, as 
if trying conscientiously to paint her portrait. 

Marion was touched with his description. 

“ That’s not old ! ” she said brightly. “ I should 
think she would like the gray better. It is quiet 
enough for any one. If she were very old I should 
choose the black, but for one only sixty I think 
the gray would be prettier.” 

He blessed her in his heart for saying that his 
mother was not old, and mentally compared her 


394 THE minister’s bonnet. 

to Madame LeFoy. But thoughts of the madame 
recalled another troublesome question. 

“ How much are such bonnets ? ” he suddenly 
said. “ I find that they are much more expensive 
than I had supposed. Do you ever have anything 
as low as four dollars ? ” He tried to ask these 
questions in a dignified manner, but was conscious 
that it might be a most unheard-of thing he was 
asking. He would not have dared ask Madame 
LeFoy ; but this milliner was quite a different 
being, and had taken an interest in his mother. 
He did not look up until she answered, but kept 
his eyes on the gray bonnet. 

She was thinking. She took up a pencil, and 
fell to figuring, while John stood looking at the 
bonnets, and thinking how much better they 
looked than those on Fourth Street. 

“ If you had it without any flowers,” said Marion 
at last, looking up, resting her elbow upon the 
counter and her head upon her hand, “ I think I 
could make it for four dollars.” 

John was disappointed. He had not thought he 
could feel so disappointed about a bonnet. He 
glanced down at the little meek, starry blossoms, 
and they looked as if they felt sorry for him. 
Marion saw that he was disappointed, but he did 
not know it. He supposed that was a secret be¬ 
tween himself and the flowers, and he answered,— 

“Very well. When can I get it ?” 

“ I can have it ready by to-morrow morning, 
and you might come in any time after nine o’clock 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


395 


and see if it is what you wish. What is the name, 
please ? ” and she poised her pencil, ready to write 
it down. 

“ MacFarlane,” he answered, bringing out one 
of the Bethany Mission invitation cards. 

He breathed a deep sigh as he went out of the 
door. How tired he was ! What a work it was 
to buy a bonnet! How did women stand it two 
or three times a year? And then, just as a wo¬ 
man would have done, he fell to worrying because 
he could not afford to buy the flowers. At the 
first corner he half turned to go back and ask 
their price; but his better sense reminded him 
that he could not afford another dollar, that it 
would positively take away from the necessary 
comforts which he hoped to give his mother, now 
that she had come to live with him, and he kept 
on toward home. 

Marion watched him as he went out of the 
door, and then her eye came back to the bonnet 
and flowers. She somehow felt strangely sorry 
about those flowers. She picked them up, and 
laid them gracefully against the soft gray lace. 
They were pretty — very pretty. She figured a 
little more, shook her head, and then remem¬ 
bering that Barnes & Brainard’s was not far 
away, and that Maria, with her inquisitive eyes, 
would soon be back, she took the white flowers 
and returned them to the window ; but as she 
bent over to place them in just the right position, 
they seemed to look up wistfully at her. She 


396 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


studied over her figures again, until she heard 
Maria’s step outside, then hastily gathering up 
the gray bonnet and trimmings, she went to her 
work-room. But Sallie Hogan’s green chip hat 
remained under the table, while she wrought out 
a sweet gray bonnet. She wondered to herself 
why it was that she took such pleasure in this es* 
pecial order, and tried to picture the face that 
would smile beneath the bonnet; and all the time 
the flowers troubled her, and she thought how 
much prettier and more perfect that bonnet would 
be with them on it. The young man’s face, too, 
haunted her with its disappointed look. It was 
strange for a young man to care about flowers 
on a bonnet. He must have a good deal of taste 
himself, or he never would have noticed the differ¬ 
ence. She glanced at his card that lay by her on 
the table, as she fashioned the gray ribbon into 
shining loops above the soft, white ruching bor¬ 
der. Pastor of a mission chapel! His salary must 
be small, then ! She could afford to be liberal to 
a poor young minister, and the flowers pleaded 
once more; but she told herself that she had 
already given much. She had promised to make 
the bonnet a great deal cheaper than she would 
have done for others, or have thought she could 
afford to do, either. She jerked her thread through 
and fastened it. It was her judgment and her 
conscience against her impulses once more. The 
gray bonnet was done; but its maker was not 
pleased with it, and placed it in a dark bandbox, 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 397 

dropping John MacFarlane’s card after it, and 
shutting down the cover tight. 

Then she brought out the green chip, and sewed 
fast. But white flowers hovered in her thoughts. 
She was disappointed in that gray bonnet. She 
took it out in the afternoon, and worked a whole 
hour upon it, and then tried it on, to persuade her¬ 
self that it was better as it was; but all the time it 
seemed to lack something. It looked bare on one 
side. She put two more loops of ribbon in, but 
that seemed to do no good. After Maria had 
gone home that night she went to the window 
and took out the white flowers. She laid them 
on the bonnet in the vain hope that they would 
look too much, and take from, rather than add 
to, its beauty. But the sweet things seemed 
to nestle among the loops of ribbon as if they 
were meant for that place, and she fancied that 
they even smiled approval at her. She put them 
quickly back in the window, shut the bonnet in 
its box, turned out the lights, locked the door, 
and went home. 

The faithful cockroach met her at the door of 
her room as usual, escorted her in, and then 
vanished. It tired her already strained nerves to 
see them ; but she was growing used to them. It 
had become a standing rule with her to shake 
every dress she took out of the closet until two 
had dropped out, and then she felt sure there 
were no more there. There were always two in 
each dress. She had tried everything to rid her 


398 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


room of them, but all had failed. She had made 
pills of borax and Indian meal, and daubed them 
all about, but they only seemed to thrive on that. 
She dusted everything with powder, and spread 
pieces of bread with ill-smelling compounds ; but 
the most of them remained unscathed, and only a 
few languid ones crawled out in search pf water 
or medical assistance. She was very tired to¬ 
night, and it annoyed her exceedingly to know 
what a small thing had tired her. She sat down 
in the hard rocking-chair; and Conscience and 
Judgment came with their arms about one an¬ 
other, and confronted her. 

“ We told you,” they said, “that you ought not 
to buy those flowers. You knew that you could 
not afford them. You were weak — very weak. 
You bought them. When we upbraided you, you 
silenced us on the ground that some rich cus¬ 
tomer would want them, and now you want to give 
them away to some one you do not know at all, 
and all because a young man looked disappointed, 
and because a bonnet that you have made does 
not suit your extravagant taste! ” 

In vain did Marion bring up the picture of the 
mother, and her pleasure in the bonnet, and repre¬ 
sent how much better the bonnet would look with 
those flowers. Judgment was inexorable. She 
gave up at last and went to bed. 

She was in the little room back of the store 
early the next morning, trying once more to make 
the gray bonnet look as she thought it should. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


399 


She was just holding it at arm’s length, to dis¬ 
cover what was the matter, when she heard the 
voice of her serving-maid. It was raised from the 
pleasant drawl she usually used in talking with 
customers, — 

“Miss Hath’way, how much d’you say these 
little \^hite flowers was ? ” 

She lifted the curtain slightly, and peered out. 
There stood an elegant young lady with the flow¬ 
ers in one hand, waiting for her answer, while 
Maria was taking a leisurely survey of the cus¬ 
tomer’s toilet, and getting pointers for her next 
shoddy suit. Marion made a sudden resolution, 
and dropped the curtain quickly. 

“ They are not for sale,” she said quietly. 
“ They are to go on a bonnet that goes out this 
morning.” 

Judgment stood appalled, while the young lady 
laid the flowers down in disgust, and walked out 
of the store. 

“Now see what you have done!” said Judg¬ 
ment. “You have lost a patron by that. She 
was a rich lady too. When you had a good 
chance to sell those miserable little flowers, you 
have thrown it away, and are going to lose the 
money you paid for them.” 

For answer she looked at the small clock on the 
table, and seeing it was almost the time she had 
set for the gray bonnet to be inspected, she sent 
Maria on an errand that was likely to keep her 
some time. She had no notion of having those 


400 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


eyes watching when the young minister came for 
the bonnet, nor of having her possibly overhear 
talk about the price. Maria well out of the way, 
she took the bonnet out once more, and went for 
the flowers. Her fingers trembled slightly as she 
fastened them, but she felt triumphant. Perhaps 
it was foolish, but it was nice. She was tired 
having Judgment lord it over her. She liked to 
follow her own sweet will once in a while, and it 
was nobody’s business but her own what she did 
with those flowers. Since she had bought them 
against Judgment, why should she not dispose of 
them without consulting that autocrat ? The 
knob of the store door was turned just as she 
fastened the last stitch. There was a glow of ex¬ 
citement in her eyes, and her cheeks were slightly 
flushed. She went out to wait upon the young 
minister in her store with the same grace which 
had made her charming in society. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


401 


CHAPTER IV. 

B EFORE she opened the box she explained 
to him that she had found she was able to 
make the bonnet and put the flowers on for the 
price he had mentioned ; and then she brought 
it forth. There was unmistakable delight in 
John MacFarlane’s eyes as he viewed that bon¬ 
net. The soft white ruche looked to him just 
like his mother ; and the dainty flowers, settled 
amongst the rich folds of gray ribbon, seemed 
like small Quakeresses. It was quietness itself, 
and yet he felt with pride that it could hold up 
its head with any aristocratic bonnet at Madame 
LeFoy’s. 

“ I like it,” he said simply. “ I’m so glad for 
the flowers.” 

It seemed as if he were thanking her for a favor 
done as to a personal friend, not at all in a busi¬ 
ness-like way. 

She put the bonnet carefully in its wrappings 
in the box; and as she did so the flowers seemed 
to nod to her and say, “You have done right. 
You will not be sorry.” 

John, as he proudly paid for his bonnet, thanked 
her for the help she had given him. He felt 
almost as gay this morning as when he was a 


402 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


little boy and had a holiday in which to go fishing. 
That bonnet had troubled him all night, in dreams 
appearing in various forms, until he had come to 
fear that his mother never would be able to wear 
it. He had gone after it this morning very doubt¬ 
fully. He wished he had never thought of a bon¬ 
net, and almost feared to go in and look at it; 
and, lo! here it was, flowers and all, and prettier 
than any bonnet he had seen for twenty-five dol¬ 
lars even. How could he help expressing some 
of his delight ? 

“ I shall tell my mother that you helped about 
this, and she will be very grateful, I’m sure. I 
never could have found one if some one hadn’t 
helped me, I’m afraid,” he said as he was going 
out. 

It was a queer thing to say to a milliner, per¬ 
haps ; but he said it. She smiled, and said she 
was glad to have helped, and she hoped his 
mother would like the bonnet ; and then he was 
gone, and she went back to her work. 

It was lonely with the flowers gone. Perhaps 
it was foolish, after all, for her to have put them 
on ; but she was glad she had done it, and she 
wished she could peep in at the window when the 
bonnet was presented, and see the mother, and 
hear what was said. She thought of her own 
mother, and tears gathered in her eyes. She 
brushed them away. The flowers had somehow 
started painful thoughts. By and by Maria came 
back, and chewed and waited on a few customers; 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


403 


and the day wore away until Marion could go back 
to her dreary little room and her cockroaches. 

John MacFarlane carried his white box proudly 
through the streets. He felt already that he 
could give a better heart to his next Sabbath’s 
sermon. He looked in at Madame LeFoy’s tri¬ 
umphantly as he passed. As he neared home he 
began to wonder just how he should present his 
gift, and wished it was Christmas, or that there 
was a birthday somewhere for an excuse. He 
began to feel awkward about it, and finally de¬ 
cided to put it away until Saturday evening, when 
he and his mother were having their after-tea 
talk. He had trouble in getting it out of sight, 
and changed its hiding-place often, lest his mother, 
in clearing up, should stumble upon it, and spoil 
his surprise. Then he waited for Saturday even¬ 
ing to arrive with as much impatience as a boy 
waits for Christmas morning. Two or three times 
he took the box out and lifted the tissue-paper 
wrappings to get a peep; and the flowers always 
smiled up reassuringly. Over his study, his work, 
and even his pastoral visits, during that week the 
gray bonnet hovered like a pleasant thought. 

The hour came at last; and, her work all done 
for the week, his mother sat her down by the 
bright student lamp with her knitting. Now was 
the time. He went to his study, and brought the 
box from its hiding-place. 

“ Mother, I have a present for you,” he tried to 
say calmly; but in spite of himself there would 


404 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


steal into his tone some of his old boyish eager¬ 
ness. 

“ Why, bless the boy ! What has he there ? ” 
she said with pleasant inquisitiveness, looking 
over her glasses at the box, and holding her knit¬ 
ting with both hands. 

He untied the cord, pulled aside the wrappings, 
drew out the bonnet, and held it awkwardly on his 
hand. There was triumph in his eyes, and pleased 
surprise in his mother’s. Neither of them spoke 
for a full minute. 

John stood with his head a little to one side, 
taking a back view of the bonnet, and seeing how 
it would appear to the two gigglers if they should 
come to church again to-morrow. 

And the mother looked at it, and at her hand¬ 
some son, and then away beyond the bonnet into 
her sacred past. Tears gathered in her eyes. 

“ John, dear boy! ” she said, and her voice 
trembled slightly, “ your father did just that 
for me once. You’re like your father, John.” 

The tender tones touched the young man’s 
heart. It pleased him beyond anything to know 
that he was like his father. He went over to his 
mother, bent, and kissed her forehead. She put 
out her hand for the bonnet, and held it off ad¬ 
miringly, then drew it nearer, and smoothed lov¬ 
ingly the shining folds of rich new ribbon. She 
liked bonnet strings that were not crumpled. 

“It’s a beautiful bonnet, John. I’m afraid 
you’ve been extravagant. I’m nothing but an old 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


405 


woman now, you know, and anything would do 
for me ; ” but she looked with pleased eyes upon 
the flowers. 

“ The dear things ! ” she said. “They look so 
like the little flowers that bloomed in our front 
yard at home. You don’t remember them, I 
suppose. It seems as if I must smell them,” 
and she bent her head toward them. 

John still stood by her, watching, well-satisfied, 
pleased as any boy at the praise she gave it. 

“ Mother, tell me about the other bonnet, the 
one father brought you ? ” he said with a gentle, 
questioning intonation. 

The tears came to her eyes again, and that 
far-away, longing look settled over her face. 

“It was before we were married, dear,” she 
said. “ He had heard me say that I must have 
a new bonnet; and so one day when he went 
to the city he remembered it, and brought me 
one when he came back.” 

She smiled to herself as she said it, looking 
off in the shadowy corner of the room. She 
could almost see her tall young lover standing 
with the bonnet in his hand, and waiting for her 
admiration, even as her son had just stood. How 
it all came back to her, — the pleasure they had 
in trying it on, and the walk in the moonlight 
afterwards ! It seemed but a few days ago; and 
now here was her son, as old as his father had 
been, and doing the same thing, only the bonnet 
was not so youthful as the other had been. 


406 the minister’s bonnet. 

“ It was a white bonnet, John ! ” she said, turn¬ 
ing back to his face lovingly. “You think your 
old mother would look queer in a white bonnet 
now, don’t you? Well, so she would; but she 
looked nice in it then. It was white straw, 
trimmed with white ribbon, and tied with white 
strings, and it had a soft white ruching inside, 
just like this one,” touching the lace tenderly, 
“with a fine, green vine mixed in with it!” 

They talked some time about that other bon¬ 
net ; but by and by came back to the present 
one, and admired it again. 

" I never should have known what to get, if 
it hadn’t been for that young lady.” 

“ What young lady ? ” asked his mother with 
keen interest. Her son had, in her judgment, 
been hitherto almost too indifferent to all woman¬ 
kind except herself. 

“ Oh, I suppose she was the milliner, though 
she did not seem like one in the least. Try it 
on, mother, and let’s see if it is becoming.” 

Mrs. MacFarlane nervously smoothed down her 
shining, unrumpled white hair, and taking hold 
of the bonnet just where the strings were fas¬ 
tened on, raised it to her head, settled it, and 
looked at her son, still holding the strings with 
one hand under her chin. 

“ Why, mother ! It makes you look younger, 
I declare ! ” he said. “ She .said sixty wasn’t old. 
Don’t let me hear you calling yourself an old 
woman. You won’t be an old woman these ten 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 407 

years yet. It actually takes some of the tired 
look out of your eyes. You’re the prettiest 
woman I know of, mother!” he said gayly, kiss¬ 
ing her again. He brought a faint pink to her 
wrinkled cheek. She looked at her son proudly, 
as she raised her face to return the kiss. 

“ You’re like your father, John,” she said again. 

Then there was more talk about the bonnet 
and the milliner; and Mrs. MacFarlane said she 
would like to see her and thank her. 

That same evening Marion was sitting in her 
dreary little room, thinking. She was too weary 
to read or work, and so she sat listlessly, letting 
her idle thoughts wander where they would. 
They settled presently upon the gray bonnet 
and white flowers. She wondered where they 
were to-night, and if they would go to church to¬ 
morrow. Suddenly a strange fancy seized her. 
She would go to that little mission chapel, and 
see what sort of a face would appear under the 
bonnet. She would like to see the flowers doing 
their appointed work in the world, and know if 
they fitted their surroundings; and whether, after 
all, Judgment had been right, and she wrong. 
The new fancy pleased her. It would perhaps be 
interesting to see what sort of a sermon that 
young man would preach. At any rate, it would 
do no harm, and she meant to go and try it. It 
would relieve the monotony of the day, and 
serve to keep the painful thoughts away. 


40 8 


THE minister’s BONNET. 


And so it came about that the next morning 
when John MacFarlane proudly escorted the gray 
bonnet down the aisle, and seated it in front of 
the two gaudy gigglers, the maker of the bonnet 
sat in a back seat and watched them. 

She could not catch a glimpse of the face be¬ 
neath its soft gray framing ; but she noticed with 
relief that the bonnet was set upon the head as it 
should be, and that the bearing of the woman 
who wore it was dignified and refined, although 
her black shawl was rusty, and a trifle threadbare. 
The instant she saw it she thought of the beauti¬ 
ful India shawl which had belonged to her mother, 
and was now packed away in one of her unused 
trunks. But that was only a passing thought. 
She turned her eyes to the young man, and noted 
the pride with which he seated his mother. His 
face was very grave, and without the slightest 
tinge of conceit. 

She examined the audience critically. They 
were of all sorts. A few well-to-do; many of 
them poorly dressed. Some of the children were 
even ragged. It was the strangest audience she 
had ever seen gathered in a church. She watched 
the young minister during the opening exercises, 
and tried to remember that this grave, dignified 
man, who seemed to feel so thoroughly at home 
in the pulpit, was the same one who had been 
ill at ease, and almost embarrassed, over a bonnet 
a few days before. 

“ Their Redeemer is strong; The Lord of hosts 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 409 

is his name: he shall thoroughly plead their cause, 
that he may give rest to the land, and disquiet 
the inhabitants of Babylon.” That was the text. 
Marion listened carefully. The words sounded 
new to her ; she did not remember to have ever 
read them. She watched the faces of some of the 
children as the preacher described the Redeemer, 
and fastened the explanation to their wandering 
minds by telling a simple story. She was in¬ 
terested in the story herself. It was restful to 
think of something strong. She was tired and 
lonely, and felt as if she were a captive in a 
strange land. This was simple preaching. Ma¬ 
rion, as she listened, realized as she had never 
done before, what it would be to have the Lord of 
hosts for her Redeemer. What rest it would 
bring to her heart to know that he was pleading 
her cause! His hearers could but ask themselves, 
“ Am / in the captivity of sin, as those people 
were captives in Babylon ? Is the Lord of hosts 
my Redeemer ? Can I rest in the belief that he 
is pleading my cause ? ” 


4 10 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


CHAPTER V. 

M ARION was surprised when the sermon was 
over. It had seemed but a few moments. 
As she bent her head for the closing prayer, the 
first words of the text kept ringing in her ears : 
“Their Redeemer is strong.” 

She had unconsciously expected to find many 
things to criticise in this young minister; but as 
she thought it over during the closing hymn, she 
found she could remember scarcely anything that 
he had said. She only knew that she had felt all 
through her heart what Jesus Christ wanted to do 
for her if she would let him. He seemed a real 
person to her. She felt the presence of the great 
invisible army of the Lord of hosts all about her. 

During the general rush that followed the bene¬ 
diction, Marion stood still in her seat to let others 
by, and avoid getting into the press. She turned, 
hoping to get a glimpse of the face under that 
bonnet; for, after all, that had been her object 
in coming. The white flowers seemed to smile a 
pleasant greeting to her across the heads of the 
out-moving people. The minister came quickly 
down from the pulpit, leaned across two seats, and 
whispered a word to his mother; and then they 
came toward her. She did not realize that they 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 411 

were coming to speak to her until they were very 
near. Her eyes were upon the peaceful face of 
the minister’s mother. She noted that the bon¬ 
net was becoming, and that it fitted exactly the 
kind of woman she was ; and then she forgot to 
look at the bonnet in her admiration of the perfect 
happiness of the face beneath. 

John MacFarlane stood before her, bowing re¬ 
spectfully. 

“My mother has wanted to see you very much,” 
he said, and turned toward the gray bonnet at his 
shoulder. 

Mrs. MacFarlane took both of Marion’s hands 
in her own, and said in her hearty, motherly tone, 

“ I have wanted to see you, dear, and thank you 
for the help you gave my son. He has told me all 
about it, and I thought I’d like to tell you that 
I like it very much.” 

It was so sweet to Marion to be called “ dear ” 
once more by some one, that she utterly lost 
all her milliner’s dignity, and answered with a 
little of her old girlishness, that she was so glad 
Mrs. MacFarlane liked it; and she glanced up 
again at those flowers, that actually seemed to be 
almost winking at her, modest little Quakeresses 
though they were, and in a church at that. And 
then they went out together into the pleasant 
spring sunshine. 

“ Oh, isn’t this a beautiful Sabbath ? God 
must take delight in making such days for us ! ” 
said Mrs. MacFarlane as they came down the 


412 THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 

steps. “You must be very glad, dear, when this 
day comes, and you can get away for a little while 
from your store.” 

Marion’s face clouded over. 

“Sunday is a dreary day for me,” she answered. 
“ I am alone in the city. There isn’t anything 
pleasant about a boarding-house Sabbath, Mrs. 
MacFarlane ! ” Then she suddenly realized that 
she was not this woman’s friend, as she had al¬ 
most felt a moment before, only her milliner. 

“ All alone! ” said the sympathetic voice ; “ but 
God is here. You can enjoy him ! A boarding¬ 
house must be a dreary place, though. Is your 
home far from here ? ” 

“ I have no home now,” said Marion sadly. 
“ My father and mother are gone, and I am the 
only one left. I am trying to make this my home ; 
but it is hard work,” and she smiled a pitiful little 
flicker of a smile at the kind face bent toward her. 

“ Now, dear child, is that so ? It must be very 
lonely for you then, truly. I know what it is 
to have dear ones leave me ; but I never was left 
entirely alone,” and she looked up at her tall son 
with loving pride. 

“ I’ll tell you what you shall do,” she said sud¬ 
denly, turning back to Marion. “ You shall come 
home with us to dinner. We’ve nothing very 
nice, to be sure; but I’d like to have you, and let 
me play you are at home for a little while. I’ll 
try to cheer you up a bit. We haven’t known 
each other very long, but I think we could be 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET 


413 


friends. The King’s children ought always to 
be able to get acquainted quickly.” 

Marion paused at the corner where she turned 
off toward her boarding-house, and looked down, 
hesitating, and somewhat embarrassed. A great 
desire had seized her to accept this invitation. 
She had been on the point of declining politely; 
but, glancing at the motherly face, she wavered. 
She longed to be inside a real home once more. 

“ Do come ! ” said the minister. “ We would be 
very glad to have you.” 

And so, after a little demurring, instead of 
declining, she turned and walked on with her new 
friends, horrified Judgment berating her the while. 

They talked of the beautiful day, and various 
other trifling matters of which people speak when 
they are just feeling their way into an acquaint¬ 
ance with one another. After her first surprise 
at finding herself in this strange and unexpected 
situation, Marion began to enjoy it. It was so 
pleasant to have some friends to talk with once 
more. They came presently to the sleepy-faced 
house where the MacFarlanes lived. It was not 
one whit less dreary looking than the one in which 
Marion had her room ; but there were white cur¬ 
tains at the windows, which gave such a feeling 
of homeliness, that it seemed to her a palace in 
comparison. 

Seated in the little parlor alone a few minutes 
later, with the soft spring wind blowing in at the 
open window, swaying the ruffles on the dimity 


414 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


curtains, and fanning her cheeks, she was obliged 
to admit to herself that she had done a very 
strange thing, to say the least, in accepting this 
invitation. Nevertheless, she was unable to feel 
at all sorry about it. This room was so cosey 
and home-like, with its plain furnishing, and air 
of happy, neat content! Mrs. MacFarlane had 
emerged from her bedroom a few moments be¬ 
fore, her black dress enveloped in a large clean 
apron; and while she pinned it round her ample 
waist, told Marion to rest, and make herself at 
home for a few minutes. Then she had gone to 
the kitchen, and her son had followed her. She 
could hear their voices now through the unlatched 
door. By the sound, she judged that the young 
man was bringing wood, making a fire, and then 
drawing water, and helping his mother about little 
things. She shut her eyes, and let the breeze cool 
her lids. It was so pleasant. 

Presently the minister came back. The talk 
drifted upon books ; and she found that they had 
read many in common. It was a treat to her, this 
being able to speak of favorite books again with 
some one who knew them and loved them. 

Marion, as she sat down to the small white 
table, wondered when she had ever been so 
hungry. There was not so great a variety for 
dinner, nothing so elaborate as they would have 
had at her boarding-house; but everything looked 
nice. The cold meat, cut into thin, pink slices, 
and the warmed-up potatoes, had a homelike taste. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 415 

Home-made bread, too, was a rare treat to her 
now, and the coffee was just right. She asked 
about the Mission Chapel and its work, and gained 
a new idea of city missions. After dinner she 
would help with the clearing away, though Mrs. 
MacFarlane said that she could do it alone, and 
that Marion was to rest. But she persisted, and 
then they talked the while. Marion found that 
the mother was fully as intelligent as the son. 
But it was after the work was done, and they came 
back to the little parlor to sit down and talk, that 
there came the most helpful time for Marion. It 
was a talk that she remembered all her life after¬ 
wards with thankfulness. 

The minister had gone to his Sabbath-school, 
and they were alone. His mother had coaxed 
from Marion, little by little, the story of her 
sorrows ; and she had told it with trembling lips. 
The elder woman had listened sympathetically to 
it all. 

“ But, Mrs. MacFarlane,” Marion said, looking 
up as she finished the recital, “you are mistaken 
in me about one thing. I do not want to wear a 
false character. You said I was one of the child¬ 
ren of the King, and I’m not.” 

Her head drooped low over the last words, and 
the tears gathered in her eyes while she waited 
for a reply. It came in a loving, but sorrowful 
and disappointed tone. 

“Not one of the children of the King, dear? 
Whose child are you, then ? 


416 the minister’s bonnet. 

“ Whose am I ? ” asked Marion, startled and 
puzzled. 

“Yes, dear,” said the voice, so tender and sad. 
“You must belong to some one. Whose child 
are you, if you aren’t the King’s ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t! ” said the girl, shuddering, and hid¬ 
ing her face in her hands. “ That is dreadful! I 
never thought of it so before.” 

Then she felt a loving arm around her. “ Dear 
child,” said the sweet voice again, “you are one 
of the King’s children, even though you have not 
been serving him. Don’t you know he bought 
you with a price ? You are his, only you have 
been serving some one else, and have not acknowl¬ 
edged your true Father.” 

It was a long talk they had. Marion’s tears 
flowed fast at first, but gradually she began to see 
the light. She knelt with Mrs. MacFarlane, and 
gave herself to Christ, and arose with a new 
feeling of peace in her heart. Her soul had been 
reaching out for help for a long time, but she did 
not know where to go to satisfy the great longings 
which had filled her. Now she felt that Jesus 
Christ was going to fill her heart, and that all 
would be different. 

The afternoon went swiftly by, and she had 
hardly realized that time was passing until she 
suddenly remembered that it was growing dark, 
and that the walk home was not a short one. She 
hastened away, then, but not until they had made 
her promise to come again. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


417 


CHAPTER VI. 

S HE thought it all over when she sat alone in 
her little room that evening. How strange 
it had been, — the bonnet, the flowers, her resolve 
to go to the chapel, the invitation, and now the 
wonderful Presence that seemed to fill her heart 
and overflow into the room ! She glanced about. 
She did not seem to mind the dusty shells with 
their mockery of the sea, nor the forlorn engrav¬ 
ings, nor even the cockroaches. She had some¬ 
thing now to be really happy over; and she 
hummed a little tune as she went about her prep¬ 
arations for rest. 

A determination was forming itself in her mind, 
and it grew stronger as the week progressed. 
She would go to that little chapel every Sabbath. 
To be sure, it was quite a walk ; but what was that ? 
It would do her good. Besides, her only friends 
in the city were there, and she had found more 
good there than in any of the other churches she 
had attended. To be sure, she had not been in 
the right frame of mind to get good at the other 
churches; this she realized: but she had a long¬ 
ing after the chapel, and she meant to go. She 
began to decide that her judgment would have to 
be re-educated. 


418 the minister’s bonnet. 

It was not long before her new pastor called 
upon her, and then called again, and brought his 
mother, who took her in her arms and kissed her, 
and called her “ My dear,” quite as if she were an 
old friend. It brought a warm glow to Marion’s 
lonely heart to feel that she had such friends, and 
life looked less dreary to her after that call. 

It was only the following Wednesday evening 
that she was sent for to come down to the dingy 
parlor of her boarding-house; and there stood Mr. 
MacFarlane, hat in hand : and would she like to 
go to the chapel prayer-meeting ? If so, he would 
be pleased to have her company. It was so pleas¬ 
ant a walk, and the young minister was so enter¬ 
taining, that it thoroughly rested her after her day’s 
confining work. Then the prayer-meeting was so 
homelike, and helped her as she had not been 
helped in many a year. She found herself won¬ 
dering why she had never been to prayer-meetings 
before. After that John MacFarlane frequently 
stopped for her on his way to meeting; and it 
made a bright spot in the midst of the long, busy 
week for the little milliner. 

One afternoon John stepped into the store to 
bring a note from his mother, begging that Marion 
would take tea with them that evening. On this 
occasion Maria was out, and he looked about him 
at the bonnets, and wondered that he had ever 
been so afraid of one. He felt himself a connois¬ 
seur in bonnets now. 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 419 

Marion had many pleasant times in the small, 
cheery parlor of the MacFarlanes. There was 
a restfulness and peace which she had never 
found in any of the homes of her fashionable 
friends. The young minister dropped into the 
store often to bring these delightful invitations. 
Now and then he brought a book which he 
thought would please her. Once or twice he 
asked her company to a fine lecture or concert; 
and so, little by little, they grew to be better 
acquainted. 

The busy summer flew by more pleasantly than 
Marion had imagined it could, and the autumn 
came on. When the wind began to blow chilling 
messages from the approaching winter, Marion 
bethought herself of her mothers shawl, and she 
looked for several Sundays meditatively at the 
rather thin black one that Mrs. MacFarlane wore 
to church. She unpacked hers one day from its 
camphor wrappings, and shook it out in soft folds 
upon her bed. Then she sat for a long time with 
tears in her eyes. Would she, could she, give it 
up—her mother’s shawl? She did not expect 
to use it herself, it was true. It would hardly be 
suitable for her. Besides, she had other warm 
wraps, and did not need it. But would Mrs. Mac¬ 
Farlane accept it ? and could she bear to give up 
the shawl, and see some one else wearing it, when 
it reminded her so of her dear mother ? 

“ But mother would be pleased if she knew it. 
She always gave her beautiful things away. I 


420 THE MiNISTER*S BONNET. 

know she would like it. And Mrs. MacFarlane 
has been so good to me, and I love her very 
much,” she said to herself. 

A few days thereafter the shawl, wrapped in 
heavy paper, and bearing Mrs. MacFarlane’s ad¬ 
dress, was sent to her by a small brother of Maria 
Bates, who happened to be playing marbles out¬ 
side the store. There was a little note accom¬ 
panying it which touched the dear lady more than 
the gift of the shawl had pleased her, even, which 
was saying a good deal. She read it through 
twice, and then with tears in her eyes she said, 
“ Dear child ! ” and, wiping the moisture from her 
glasses with the corner of her smooth, white 
handkerchief, she handed it over to her son : — 

Dear Mrs. MacFarlane, — You have been so very 
good to me, and I love you so much, that I want to send you 
this shawl. It was my dear mother’s, and I would like to see 
you wearing it. I think, too, it would please her. She must 
love you for having brightened the lonely life of her child. 
Please accept it as a slight token of the gratitude and love I 
have for one who has helped to bring peace to my heart. 

Yours lovingly, 

Marion Hathaway. 

The shawl was a welcome surprise to Mrs. 
MacFarlane. She had just been planning to 
make her thin black one do all winter by folding 
a smaller thick red one inside it; but even then it 
would have been thin. Her son was more pleased 
than he expressed even to his mother. He en¬ 
joyed seeing her with the heavy, beautiful shawl 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 42 1 

around her. It always seemed to him that beauti¬ 
ful things belonged to his mother, though she 
looked queenly to him in the commonest thing 
she wore. 

It was toward spring again, almost a year from 
the time when Marion and Mrs. MacFarlane had 
first come to the city. The postman rang at the 
MacFarlanes’, and handed John, who came to the 
door, a letter. He glanced at the postmark in 
feverish haste, then went to his study, and closed 
the door behind him, tearing open the letter as 
if it contained some important message. As he 
read, the anxious, wistful look on his face changed 
to one of gladness. He half turned to open the 
door and read it to his mother; but, thinking bet¬ 
ter of it, reached up to the hook behind his study 
door for his hat and overcoat. 

“ I’m going out for a little while, mother,” he 
said as he passed through the sitting-room. 

He went with rapid steps down the street ? 
never looking up at the bright-eyed spring bonnets 
that nodded to him from Madame LeFoy’s win¬ 
dow. On he went, straight to the little side 
street where lived his milliner. 

“ May I come into your work-room for a few 
minutes ?” he asked Marion, as she came forward, 
smiling, to meet him. “I want to talk a little, 
and I don’t want to hinder you. Maria is safe,” 
he said reassuringly, as he saw Marion hesitate, 
and glance uneasily out of the window. “ She 
has reached only the next corner above here with 


422 THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 

the bonnet you have sent her home with, and she 
is talking with a young man of the gay-necktie 
style. She’s likely to stand there some time yet, 
I should say. How far had she to go ? ” 

“ Away over to East Fletcher Street,” Marion 
answered gayly. “ Come in. I wouldn’t let you, 
only I’m very busy this morning.” 

He sat down; she took up her work, and they 
talked pleasant commonplaces for a minute or 
two, when he said suddenly, — 

“ I have received a call to Springdale! ” and 
handed her the letter which had come that morn¬ 
ing. 

She started slightly, but took the letter, and 
read it. The color mounted into her face ; but her 
lips wore their firm little curve, with perhaps more 
dignity than usual. 

“ It is a very good salary, and a pleasant field 
for work, I should think,” she said, trying to speak 
composedly; “but I”— she hesitated, and a 
flush mounted up into her face. She began 
again, — 

“We shall”— she caught herself once more, 
the red in her cheeks spreading even to her fore¬ 
head. She realized that there was no one, unless 
it were Maria Bates, in connection with whom and 
herself she might use that pronoun “we.” 

She resolved this time to gain entire control of 
herself, and, straightening up a refractory loop of 
ribbon, began the sentence once more,— 

“Your congregation will miss you very much 


THE MINISTER’S BONNET. 


423 


indeed, she said, this time in a clear, unnatural 
voice; and th.en realizing that she had made a 
decided muddle of things, and feeling vexed over 
it, she thrust her needle through ribbon and bon¬ 
net and finger with a force which set every nerve 
tingling in sympathy with the poor abused finger. 
When she looked up it was only to find the minis¬ 
ter’s eyes full upon her, and an amused expression 
on his face. 

“ Finish your first sentence, won’t you, pl-ea’se ? ” 
he asked in a tone that demanded an answer. 

She looked down a moment. 

“ It began with ‘ I,’ ” he said, as she still hesi¬ 
tated. 

“ I shall miss your mother very much indeed,” 
she finished quickly, with a demure air, and went 
on with her work, though her cheeks were glowing. 

Then they both laughed. He recovered his 
gravity first. Perhaps he realized that Maria 
Bates was uncertain, and his time might be short. 
He put the letter in his pocket, and drew his chair 
close to hers. 

“ Marion,” he said, taking both her trembling, 
cold hands into one of his, and with the other 
landing the. bonnet she was sewing, with all its 
trimmings, right into the middle of a box of crush 
roses, “ will you go to Springdale with me, and help 
me begin the new work ?” 

If Maria Bates had but known what was going 
on behind the cadco curtain in the little store that 
morning, she would not have stood smiling and 


424 the minister’s bonnet. 

simpering so long on the corner of Second Street 
with the young man who wore so elegant a paste- 
diamond scarf-pin. But the world moves on, and 
waits for none. Even Maria Bates and young 
Mosely were called, by what they used for a 
conscience, to move on ; and in course of time 
Maria had finished her errand, and was on the 
way back. 

Marion finally succeeded in impressing this fact 
upon John MacFarlane ; and he discreetly took 
himself away, just in time to escape Maria’s scru¬ 
tinizing glance, promising, however, to return at six 
o’clock precisely, that evening, and take her home 
to his mother. 

“ Mother,” he said a little after six, as he threw 
open the parlor door, and stood so that he filled 
the doorway entirely, “ I have a present for you.” 

“ Bless the boy ! What is it ? Another bon¬ 
net ? ” she asked mischievously, looking at him 
with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“No, it’s not a bonnet this time; it’s the milli¬ 
ner herself ; ” and he stood aside triumphantly, and 
gently pushed the blushing Marion in front of 
him. 

Now the cockroaches are looking for a lodger, 
and the store windows where once smiled the 
white blossoms are gay with candy canes and dogs 
and cats, with a box of cigars and a few wilted 
bananas by way of variety ; and many ladies who 
were just beginning to find out Marion’s dainty 
taste are wondering what has become of that ele- 


279 92 


The Minister’s bonnet. 425 

gant little milliner who made such “loves of hats 
at such ridiculous prices! ” 

But there is a small white parsonage with green 
blinds, set in the midst of a wide green lawn which 
slopes away on the right to a pretty stone church, 
somewhere. On the porch in pleasant weather 
sits a lovely old lady, whose hair is crowned by 
beautiful soft white caps. She knows what has 
become of the milliner, and so does the minister. 
And the people who live in the pleasant village 
streets, and out on the green hills near by, love 
her with all their hearts. 



■ 


: 

4 












* 

































































































- 








* § 32 

































{ 


¥ 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 








■'i 








T 






























